Beer Breakfast by John Patrick Robbins

Beer Breakfast

It’s the kind of morning that lets me know death isn’t such a bad thing.

Its cold the world is peaceful minus the neighbors that never seem to mind polluting the environment with their noise.

I am alone I will be so until my death.

It is poetic in its nature and a brutal truth sold as art.

Writers are all whores, broken people beautiful in there flaws.
There is something I admire even in the ones I hate.

I know I chose this road.
I view others lucky enough to share their lives.

I pity there partners and wonder are all other writers as screwed up as myself?

I am in love with the page and nothing more. .

Never make that mistake in reading my words.

I woke up empty as always.

I decided to crack a beer instead of pour a cup of coffee.

I drank until I passed out then awoke at midnight to pen what you are reading now.

I poured a cup of coffee and slipped a shot of bourbon in the mug to keep it company.

Art is a selfish mistress.
Writing is a endurance race.

I seemed like a train wreck to the outside world.

And to other writers I was simply John.

We are all fucked up to a certain degree.

John Patrick Robbins is a barroom poet professional smart ass and fulltime drinker who's work can be read in inbetween Hangovers , Your One Phone Call. And most everywhere on the net and a few bathroom walls as well.
John Patrick Robbins is a barroom poet professional smart ass and fulltime drinker who’s work can be read in inbetween Hangovers , Your One Phone Call. And most everywhere on the net and a few bathroom walls as well.

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