The Three Drink Circus

I've spent enough time wondering if you're a waste, a wretch like most of the inwardly facing beauties the pavement has taken, a shit upward, fighting gravity. If you were it wouldnt be your own fault, and I'd never blame you. Its easy to fall victim to yourself. I do it every day. But something tells me, though you waddle around with the contents of your ego spilling as a trail behind you wherever you step, gravity dosnt care for Egos, for concepts, it knows your belly is full of shit. Maybe.

Ive spent time, across the room, thinking about weather or not I could fall in love with you, Generaly "Yes" is what I find, but spirits make my heart feeble.If I were to really explore, not on drink, what it is you have to offer, I think I would have to search too hard. But thinking is a flaw when it comes to this sweet bussiness of love, ugly bussiness as ruthless as any. More than thinking, drinking, and letting. Thats the place you seem like an angel. White bone shrapnel, black feathers, wide eyes. A caculated crooked smile, and if it isnt intentional- god save the girl who will never learn. Maybe.

Now, on the third drink, I realize its my fear of you that  births these judgments. My fear that the Ego I shit is visible next to yours. Ive seldom felt like a fake ,Naturally there are exceptions, but there's a certain grace mystery unleashes, and I hardly know you. I admire the pieces Ive seen and judge the ones I dont understand. You arent a wretch atall, and if you are, so am I. Im drunk again, and again, I'm saying "Yes".Maybe.

But thank everything you arent dumb.