Writings of a Phobophobe.
Every now and then,
Your smile makes its way to my mind.
I search for a pen,
And grab the nearest sketchbook I find.
Colors I try to blend,
And with precision I draw my lines,
Still wishing I can
Capture that in time.
Into the trash many pieces went,
As I couldn’t illustrate the joy that binds.
Will you lend me a hand,
And pass me some of that wine?
As much as you can,
Please,
Help me get you out of my mind.
In the depths of melancholia,
I could really do a sangria.
In the midst of all partying,
I’m present with no being.
All in all I can conclude,
Importance is the image we exude.
After twenty odd years of my life,
I finally had one day,
I was so high,
I went to order Mcdonald’s,
Alone for supper.
What’s the big deal right?!
I haven’t ate Mcdonald’s in years.
(In fact, I don’t even remember when I last had it.)
Strangely, with the number of friends I have who love drinking, I never had a time which I drank until I was seriously was decently high and happy. I never did enjoy it fully, since I associate drinking with drama, boomer’s bile, immature boys, missing friends and remembering everything that everyone else forgotten. I have always been pretty hard on myself, telling myself to never get drunk, conduct myself well etc. I’m always super hard on myself, telling myself to never get drunk, conduct myself well etc.
I think I had an amazing breakthrough.
Sobered through drunken nights till morning light,
Wild and somber she saw one over yonder.
Years she pondered, a contract was then made with prudence.
When all were convinced it was of congruence,
She bailed and got released for undue influence.
killgwen 