Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Falstaffian Sobriquets Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Saturday 10/27/2007 03:03:00 AM

We were selling self-esteem from the back of my mountain bike. It's just that the mountain we chose was too steep.

I had my cartoons all laid out. In wells of when. Or if. I would ever laugh at myself again. The sarcasm read what i had so far and decided to wait.

It's funny when it hurts. Those scorpions inside our shoes acting like people do. Making the venom so appealing. Making the sting into happiness.

Like I always do.

Always will.

Take off these gloves and feel the window for the first time. The glass you always thought was there.

Never was.

The world was always there.

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