One more gulp and I’m slowly slipping into another Friday night like an alleycat through shadow.
The marble bar top rigidly wrapping the pine backsplash of a brewery whose owners, must surely be stoners.
One inquisitive sip from my glass gives up aromas of dank, resinous weed, and juicy hop buds.
Yes, this is life, one more night counting down to the sunrise I’ll never see.
My life slowly inching toward an unsurprising end that I hope to have preceded with enough living that death seems only appropriate.
Indeed, I seek to gulp deeply from life’s cup.
To rip the art from the walls and swing, knife in teeth, from the chandelier.
To become a victim of a life worth living and not a consequence of safety’s givings.
Yeah, I want to burn.
Burn so brightly that when I extinguish, my ashes alone, make all that wander feel home.
That I show even the most fearful of friend that life is best lived with regrets, rather than the realization that you never really risked anything.
