bottle

Full throttle. The bottom of the bottle. Drowning in alcoholic debris. Drowning in a sea of idiotic tendencies. A tentacle times eight wrapped around your body- squeeze, squeeze, squeezing until you can no longer breathe. You are suffocating, the smoke from fires is choking your desires. One by one and two by two. Three by three may as well be an infinity, today. Today things are more or less okay- but then again, aren't they always? We just make it seem worse than it is. To be alive could and should suffice. There is no better decade than the decade we are currently living- nostalgia for the 60s is par to yearning for 80 degree weather in the winter. A splinter in my middle finger yet I can flip the world the bird nonetheless. You're the best.