The Drink Poured Itself

Self-descriptive.

The drink poured itself.

It was just one of those nights.

Christmas Eve to be exact.

As I lifted the glass,

I thought about that passage in my life

where I waved goodbye to all of the angels I knew

as they ascended towards the warmth of the sun.

 

 I recall staring not only in awe,

 but in resentment and envy,

 for I, with the drink in my hand

 and the cigarette between my lips,

 rudely cursed the gods for not choosing me.

 

As I sit here thinking about that passage

where two roads diverge

and we say our sorrowful goodbyes,

 I realize that I was chosen...as we are all...

 

but the weight of my guilt,

 the darkness of the web surrounding me,

the holes piercing through the mask,

 sucking in all of that unwanted energy the universe pisses on me,

 

I was too heavy to fly.....

too heavy with the burden of a man

with many vices and shameless accolades

towards the dirt packed at the bottom of this planet.

Fallen Angel?...heh, oh no.

 I missed my chance to fly.

Just a Mediocre human with eyes fixed on the clouds that block his vision.