“The Absinthe Drinker” by Pablo Picasso
(1901)
On
the verge of falling off several things as ladders and chairs and sanity
Isolation
is ice cold
For
sore throats a sip of silence will soothe the suffering
The doctor
still has to treat her patients, with delicacy
Be
patient when the victims come begging
In the mercy the victims will not feel their pain
Both
the doctors and the patients live for tomorrow
For
hope’s sake the victims will endure every needle
For
god’s sake the doctors will stay away from evil
Revenge
is founded through music and movies
Childcares
are built for the purpose of neglecting children
Victims
are exclusive to reality
Some species of soldiers are untouchable
When your hat gives you away where you choose to stand out in a hairy crowd
Entangled
egos are a hopeless case
There’s
no freedom at the end of the tunnel
But a
pile of dog shit, waiting to be stepped, upon
Never
refer to the ground as the face of the earth
For
no one’s face deserves to go through so much of the shit that comes with
Construction
Destruction
There
is a cycle to suffering
And
it starts with the writer’s declaration of how much they love writing
Don't write about writing
Hypocrisy
is something to be given into eventually
The
next act unleashes
A shocker
Rapid
transactions follow the old man’s stage fright
He
flees in his cowboy boots and brown blazer
Who grabs onto his soul still lingering on stage and gasps for air