If the world was a whisky bottle

I would swallow it whole.

Like a drunkard drains the bar,

The bartenders stores

and always finds it empty.

At the bar,

The only thing I ever found

at the bottom of the glass

was me a little drunker,

The only problems I was able to escape

were problems I didn’t help create.

We’re all empty

At the bottom of the glass,

And at the bar

The bartender stores

The little last peace of a heart.

The last bit of pride

Of some young tart

The brains of a lost art.

The foolish ramblings

Of a fool from the start.