Drowning Superstitions In The Love Of Alcohols Sweet lament

Decided to kick the mirror in today
seven more years of a lifetime of misery
seems shallow in retrospect

smashed the salt shaker
danced in the dervish scuffed by
my feet
kicking it as if it were dust
and luck is nothing more than a boot print
primed in the lament of failure

walked under a ladder
stared up at the obtuseness of triangles
and what they mean in the relationship
to a consciousness that has fallen by the wayside
fallen into the disrepute of hedonism

inhale the nihilistic approach
of running a-foul of black cats
whilst howling at the full moon

I miss the sound of your voice
the timbre that melts the melancholy
revives the fact
I can feel alive

now all that’s left
is the sound of raining glass
and the hiss of a cracked bottle