Watering my muse 

​I sit outside 

Watching the plants 

Stand up and move 

With the soft morning breeze, 

An old woman sadly smiles 

As she struggles to go up

The coline she’s climbing 

On her way to the supermarket. 

The sun is up in the sky 

At the same place the moon was 

Yesterday when I woke up,

Cars and people pass by 

The world keeps spinning around 

And I sit here 

Smoking old cigarettes 

Reading dead people poetry 

Listening dead people music

And there’s so many life outside 

Yet I sit tight 

And begin to write. 

The noise is getting bigger 

Even Henson can’t make it fade 

So I turn my thoughts away 

As I try to finish this writing 

And I laugh at possibilities 

As I hide and run 

And Death may be close 

As I’m surrounded by smoke

But I have another though 

So it won’t be nice 

But I’ll leave all this behind 

Trying to be the man 

I once dreamed I was. 

‘Another shot, please’ 

​Eight Tequila shots later 

I am still tripping over the thought of her, 

while I can’t even remember 

my own fucking name

And good vibes fade away. 

I’ve never been good 

At solving my problems 

I guess it has something to do

With all the times they left;

My parents went away 

My soul crashed her way 

My lover found someone else 

But alcohol keeps sending its address. 

I drown my pain 

In this pen 

And eleven shots away 

I keep tormenting myself

With the same thoughts 

About the same lost. 

And even if it tears myself 

From the inside 

I keep remembering her name 

And her warm side, 

As I’m freezing to death 

She’s still in my head 

And I’ll drink this wine 

Until you get out of this place

I like to call my prison cell.