defenstrating a window.collab.

morning starts when daybreaks fragile security.  it’s six am, and you’re still alone at the bar sipping your best friends Liquor and Loneliness.  the pub owners know your wallet’s name by heart and are used to your routine.  you want to stop, but alcohol bottles pay your mind the rent and bills, so you let your liver take the debt instead.

the day ends when nightfalls asleep, when the moon shoplifts the sun and pulls oceanic strings in its favor.  it’s six pm, and you’re still passed out on the taproom floor.  the roosters are calling, but you keep hanging up when you should be hanging on.  and all this hanging reminds me of your windowpain.  your inebriation shattered the glass like a hammer, and the broken window frame hungover your once-ambitious wall of fame reminds you of yourself – framed and hung: you framed the window for drunk driving, and the bribed judge sent it to the gallows.  they tore down your prizeless wall and built a rehabilitation clinic in its place.  it’s more effective if you ask me, but your tongue is too slurred to ask questions.

you’re out of loose change owing nickels and dimes and fifty dollar bills to the bottles. but you’ve got pockets full of time that you’re paying out instead. trying to waste another quarter hour until the sun splinters through the window sending miniature glances of regret through your retinas with every heavy lidded blink of your bloodshot eyes. and you don’t beg for money but you would beg for change since you’re stuck in a circle where there’s no beginning or end and the only constant is how you’re constantly stumbling in and out of consciousness at all hours and it’s finally telling you that there’s no vacancy there.

you’re stuck in your revolving nightmare whispering “what-if’s” and “could-have-beens” out your second story window waiting to see if the past will still throw pebbles against your screen if you ask it to come visit. you’re afraid of waking the present and you’re afraid of how this is ending. and you’re afraid of what you’ll be thinking when six am comes and you’re all alone.

you’re juggling blank pennies named Hope and Sloth and Opportunity, but like any coin toss there’s a fifty-fifty chance on where it lands: a wishing well or a wastebasket.  you figure it’s safer to flip copper than your lid, but the lottery is rigged, and you’re not exactly a statistician.  you cheated your way through math only to drop out halfway sophomore year.  all you remember the glass is half-empty, half-full.  and you know that means it’s not a party until every drop contaminates your consequences.  it’s like a slot machine you never win – but the casinos feed have to feed off someone’s misery, and you’re their favorite customer.

think probability roulette with a loaded equation.
heads: you live that lush, lavish lifestyle you've convinced yourself to want
tails: you just live.  that is, if you call your Luckless Tragedy a life.
or maybe it’s this: heads, you drown in a puddle of your preferred poison; tails, you succumb to cirrhosis.  either way, you’re convinced health is so three hours ago.

you’ve spitshined your outlook to prove to yourself that everything isn’t looking four shades too dark or a half ounce too blurry. but the problem is this prebottled forgetfulness is clouding your vision and drowning out your memories. if at some point, you thought you had good intentions, then at this point, you’re wrong since incoherent diction and stumbled over shoelaces can’t convince anyone that you’re living.

maybe there’s this: you had a plan and there were twenty five steps on how to make it past twenty five but you skipped the beginning and shot to the end so you never learned how to do anything but live like you’re dying or pretend like there’s something besides endings. so how about you say what you were thinking when you thought you still had a chance. maybe that’s begging the question but with all these wrong answers, you’re failing.

the world ends when earth trades light for dark – when you trade your birth certificate for a casket and your love for a bottle.