Why write sober when drunk writing will do?

I went drunk in my search for words,

because the sober me had seldom little poetry

left. Inside my bunker heart. Inside my loaded mind. 

God, this is going to be f*****g awful. 
Because of the gin and all that. 

I've been appreciating the sky recently. 
And asking questions about Faith and God. 

And I'm kind of happy with this conclusionless 

storm I'm riding, on a solitary boat, the waves of my mind. 

But I'll be damned if I don't concede,

that I wish there was another riding with me. 

That we could enjoy our mutual perplexity(?). 

Pondering, together. 

It's only the spelling I'll regret, only the grammar - 

but never the sentiment, never the feeling

and the flow and the beauty. Of it. 

[I'll try and figure out what all this means tomorrow, 

or - given my fondness for delay - I might 

just never will]

Reviews

[Karmee]

It's only the spelling I'll regret, only the grammar -
but never the sentiment, never the feeling
and the flow and the beauty. Of it.

LOVE this part, this is so good, love the gripping of this write, this is wonderful

[Thomas Emile Vaughen]

Karmee, thank you so much for the reviews you've left on my work recently. It's tremendously encouraging knowing that another person has read my words, and they've been left with a positive impression. I think I've been a little hard on myself as of late, and it's somewhat eroding my desire to write.

I can't wait to glance at your work and return the favour - hopefully tomorrow, lest anything major comes along and derails my plans.

Warm regards,

C.