The Drink

by grittykitchen

A toast to our youth, it’s all we have, at this moment.
Our livers open, with no protest, we smile in war.
It’s pitch black, inside, we sit back, and let it take over.
Fear of growing older, because our goals seem so far away.
Sometimes, I wish things would be different; instead of drinking, we could be thinking of new theories, instead of thinking of old series.
Old series, that can only put the pieces to the past.
I hate to break it to you, but the drink, it won’t last.
The poison will, and we’re sinking fast.

Try to understand my words, they’re slurred, but make sense.
It wasn’t the first, or the third, but the fifth that made logic exist.
For once, things are alright.
The cancer can finally breathe.
I know things are out of the box, but what’s stock without someone to invest?
What’s a chest without a heart to rest?
I’m blessed, really.
I could’ve been with my uncles, drinking in hell, but for my father’s sake; I stayed out of the cell, didn’t dwell in the beer of my kin, passed the gin, for water is the well that won’t leave me dry.
In time; I’ll figure it out, the signs will tell.
But tonight; I don’t drink for them, I drink for myself.