SOBER

REHORSHE Ekshrwha ShrongBheewrh

Fluid circling. Pushing.
Perpendicular to the walls.
Stomach bubbling
Echoing in the esophagus.
Volumes and volumes.
Down, down, down.

Thrusting your foot to step.
Lifting your self to walk.
Your cane is your youth
Your fickle pleasures.

You woke up. No.
You walked up, sleeping.
Nauseous.
Sedated.

And at the end of the road
You see half
Of what you have seen
Before gulping
The very last drop.

Yonder looms
The sole reason
For your insanity
And for even discerning
That crystal glass of
Hope
You wanted to own.

Tagay mo, dude!

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