Wednesday, September 16, 2009

The works of Utopia Frederick

On Drunk Driving.

That is the way I feel tonight, at least. It's been another night under the bottle, the influence of heaven is soaking into my stomach. My liver can take it, at least for now. The lights are simply blurs, swirls of color. Nothing more. Nothing less. I see flashing blurs of red, white, and blue. I think of America, I pray it isn't the police. I have to be over the limit. and in this state that is under arrest. At least that is what the blinking signs say on the highway. By this time I am going at least 90 miles per hour. It feels so smooth, just as the whiskey I consumed earlier. Smooth and tasteful. Until tomorrow morning when it all comes back to me, sour spit, straight to the bowl, down the drain, cleaned off the bathroom floor. Bathroom floor is what I am hoping for. I haven't felt so alive in years, or more dead. I drink my weight in sorrows and my mind is cleared of all the wrong in the world. Everything in my bank account, my credit cards, my debt. Everything is nothing. Not when you feel this empty, not when you feel this full, of cheap liquor and bar nuts.

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