Old Crow Can’t Cure Everything
Words had slowed for the moment and I was on a hell of a binge.
Maybe the page and me were going through a separation.
Some thought I was losing steam others thought I was just losing my mind.
They were wrong on both counts.
Everyone who truly understood me knew my mind had long since left me with a bad liver and some well placed scars.
I just didn’t write cause it wasn’t a sport.
I had friends whom had work out every week and I didn’t blame them.
But I took my time I waited and always hit the mark.
Maybe it was total shit but it was well crafted shit none the less.
I simply wrote that’s all I ever did.
I had little use for people and preferred my isolation to shared insanity.
I hated crowds, kids, and chaos.
Some said it was because I lacked love.
I preferred sex instead.
I was honest and that either repulsed most or drew them to me.
I wasn’t a in crowd type yet I held my own.
I laughed often shared drinks with those whom would never read my words.
I preferred their company to others whom couldn’t wait for you to leave the table to simply rip into whomever was away from it.
I broke my bones they healed with time.
I broke my heart I pored in bourbon to replace the love I lost.
Whiskey lifted my spirits and soothed the madness.
Old crow kept me company a bottle a silent companion on the table beside my recliner.
The wolf’s were always at the door and I ignored them as usual.
You can find a fix for most everything in life.
Whiskey cleansed my wounds but never erased the scars.
Old crow flew beside me it was a way to mend the fence for now.
A friend and vice all in one.
It’s a companion for now but the old crow as good as it is
can’t cure everything.