I’m fully disappointed in myself.
Because I don’t feel or care.
Everything is lackluster and.
My life seems so bare.
I went to the bar by myself.
Like I do Thursday through.
I drink through foggy hues.
We sip whiskey, my friends and myself.
I chain smoke and waste my body.
My mind continues its hypotheses.
I am clearly avoiding somebody.
I am not right so I don’t write.
I cannot share my accepted misery
Everything is fine.
But it’s not fine.
It’s undeniably, and