An explosion, like the bottle smashed
breathing in the scent of our deadly human features, aesthetic.
drinking tainted liquid to inspire our words, neurotic.
Flipped the radio switch to hear something other than my mind
and only again to feel the the hum of my mental prisoner.
Radio music, i’m criticizing the notes, trying to make out their poetry.
play a song when just fresh and newly written…
..and then to play it years later…
..does it carry the same meaning?
emotions sway but always vanish after so long.
So do meanings of songs,
trying to recapture the blood rush
and the pulse beat!
Sitting like a statue, I thought of the confusions.
How to solve these errors of unattainable harmony.
Glass of wine for my words,
some scotch for my thoughts
and champagne for my funeral.