“My blood is fifty percent alcohol the other half was you.”

It seems strange how we look in the same mirror, yet what stares back, is so painfully different.

These empty halls are crowded, this silence is too loud. Shadows they call out, now i’ve lost what once was found.

You cannot force a vine to grow the fruit of an apple tree, for the sake of your love of apples. What fruit can it possibly bear?

Now i’m like you, just a memory floating across, this now foreign land.

You’re my bad habit, on this dark planet, light up my world like stars, now they’re ashes.

I don’t want to forget you, even though its best to, now you’re just the empty space, in my bedroom.

Contemplate your own mortality daily, then see how much we must change.

My closest friend is myself, although he may lie to me, at least i know the lies to be true.

Of all the roses in the bush, you have the sharpest thorns.

I revel in the solace found when gold rays caress your sleeping face. Blissfully unaware of the beauty they’re revealing.

A cherry blossom refusing to bow to the seasons; fighting off frozen winds fiercely, for it knows the power held in the beauty, of its bloom.

I want to hear your secrets, to learn their weight, and bare them as my own.

You are a drug that my blood forgot, it needed.

Suggested remedy for the common cold: A good gulp of whiskey at bedtime-it’s not very scientific, but it helps.

I wish to live to 150 years old, but the day I die, I wish it to be with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.

Every drop of her gin held a lost world of night sky dances.

Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.

When you wish water was vodka – that’s how you know shit hurts.

Wine and gin nights smell like trouble when its just you and I.

The whisky bears a grudge against the decanter.

In April the sweet showers fall And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all The veins are bathed in liquor of such power As brings about the engendering of the flower.