There Are Many Ways To Drown, Only

There Are Many Ways To Drown, Only The Most Obvious Wave Their Arms As They're Going Under.

Alcohol Is The River We Sit On The Banks Of, Contemplating. Sometimes We Watch Ourselves Float Past, Sometimes We Watch Ourselves Sink.

In My Experience, Whatever Happens Clings To Us Like Barnacles On The Hull Of A Ship, Slowing Us Slightly, Both Uglifying And Giving Us Texture. You Can Scrape All You Want, You Can, If You Have Money, Hire Someone Else To Scrape, But The Barnacles Will Come Back Or At Least Leave A Blemish On The Steel.

Some Part Of Me Knew He Would Show Up, That If I Stood In One Place Long Enough He Would Find Me, Like You're Taught To Do When You're Lost. But They Never Taught Us What To Do If Both Of You Are Lost, And You Both End Up In The Same Place, Waiting.

Writers, Especially Poets, Are Particularly Prone To Madness.