Debating decadence amidst diurnal debauchery sessions…
lolling aimless in procrastination dreams:
swarming, infinitesimal possibilities
afforded through first, luscious
ambrosia sip.
If only sins were absolved so simply;
ruinous life fractures mended so easily…
If only success were as natural as that
initial, visceral lust
evoked by pretty bar maids.
As liquid steadily descends
devoured by the great void within,
clarity teases its tresses in mock possibility,
coquettishly masking the corrosive toil
of being.
