Cheers

Old Monk is the happiness I would sell my Ferrari for...not in cash but in kind... it is the obvious yeah, revise it. Exchanging my luxury for a responsible addiction. Put your hands together for the liquor that makes love to my trips and sends signals of ecstasy into my blood.

Why be anonymous and hide your kind of high? Politically incorrect is the black I comfortably fit into.

Flying to Europe or Mars could cost me my kidneys, chugging that rum under a sky where stars couldn't care less about me is slow poisoning my liver but I am on cloud nine, a fair amount to pay for the experience. Stars are 'bling bling' in appearance and the shine they display is moral policing. Granny's is up there as one of them and she would have questioned her parenting skills if I offered to high five my glass with hers over pegs playing piano in my head. Piano, drums, guitar (acoustic) doing a salsa. Group salsa, team assignments...

Hdkksssgfjrrllrlsvdbmd. Kskskslaejdsndhkjsksksllsllslslslhvdfu.

These are clumsy looking blunders, I'll keep them as they are. Perfection is a myth because expectations are neverending. Dozing off in his grave, being a mistress to his death anniversaries is a ritual, the one my head is marked with vermillion for... He throws halloween parties, he tricks me by playing dead and then treats me with a kiss on my chapped lips during winter nights.

Good trips and a terrific sense of music can churn out the worst in me. The worst is the best surprise. Be my guest, judge me. Defrosting intolerance into a temperature of tolerance is a pastime.

©songbriti

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