All Posts, By Me, The Arts

On some days,
We’d sit around,
Remnant reminiscence,
Of intoxicated bliss,

A fabulous interpretation of youth,
All that glitters is gold,

Twice told tales of madness,
Wreckless, hopeless, fun.

Yes, fun.
It was fun.

The conundrum of adolescence,
Eased by Vodka blurring,
The great simplifier,
And star choreographer,

Yet, in the mornings,
Memories of hysteria,
Enjoy the sprinklings of a fantasist,
Sugar on Bran,

But hangovers don’t do bran.

On some days,W…


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