Mounting years and endless beers
have dimmed the long road home.
Shabby thoughts rise like Phoenix dust
to spook my intellect.
Gone is that keen mind of youth, discarded
like a snakeskin.
My skeleton, somewhat linear drips the weakest
of poison so the letter I write is filled with lies.
The bloat, the gray, the angst and I
fall lost between the lines.
— 3 hours, 4 min ago
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