Today, I sat down to write, with a cup full of coffee by my side Irish But the words wouldn't flow So I began wondering how wonderful it would be, If one could buy words for a pirce like the cheap liquor I buy at the cheap bar where the bartender tenders my poison in a glass bottle wrapped in a dark cover in exchange for some rupees without an extra word uttered between us. I return to my damp, dreary room crack open the bottle, pour out three fingers of dark liquid into my favorite coffee cup and top it off with freshly brewed coffee. On the table, it's set, next to last night's incomplete work. Knuckles cracked, nib licked. And as I ponder, the words begin to fill up the pages, as effortlessly as the warm liquid filling up my belly. So I write some more I drink some more merrily, until the words begin to choke again
Injurious to health if taken seriously. Potential NSFSP, read at your own discretion. Don't tell my mom.