“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.

As an alcoholic, you will violate your standards quicker than you can lower them.

My books are water; those of the great geniuses is wine. Everybody drinks water.

Either give me more wine or leave me alone.

They asked me why I don’t quit drinking, I told ’em I’m not a quitter.

Write drunk; edit sober.

An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.

I make my protein drink with whiskey. People think I’m crazy, but that’s the way I am. I get stoned, I do my own thing.

Hear no evil, speak no evil, and you won’t be invited to cocktail parties.