I’m not much of a drinker, but times change. You break up pieces of thoughts in your head and you wonder what broke it up in the first place. I’m drunk with words. Phrases of a good morrow linger over a cloud of doubt. I am getting sloppy. Thoughts pour from my mouth to a brim of a cold glass. I’m intoxicated with fear. Opening my letters to this world is all I want to do, but I’m afraid there’s nothing left in this half-full world
