This is why I should never write sober.

Drag yourself to this table again
And talk awhile with me
Tell me what your poison is
Share a glass or three

The dregs of disillusionment
Or heartache, pure and distilled
Bitterness flowing straight from the tap
We will surely drink our fill

I wish that I had a gift to bring
Something not threadbare and spent
These insubstantial words leave us
With a bellyfull of discontent

And I know you know all the stories
The script, it is crumpled and stained
We will speak our lines, and shake our heads
And ask ourselves what has been gained

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One Comment

  1. Voice from past answers

    Then I said, I have laboured in vain, I have spent my strength for nought, and in vain: yet surely my judgment is with the LORD, and my work with my God.
    Isaiah 49:4

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