I Really Thought It Was Friday
It turns out it’s Tuesday.
Rum flows like a rapid, cheap river.
Cocktails are holy water.
I dive in, head first
like a baptism for a punk.
I paint myself into corners.
I don’t burn my bridges
I rig them to collapse
with plastic explosives.
I try to crush my erratic nature
under immense duress
it defiantly thrives there.