It is that time of week,
when our meaningless pursuits
drown in beer and single malts.
Our shadows retire besides us
tired of walking on overdoses of caffeine
The tires rest while the toes
Even in this restless summer,
you somehow remember the fire hearth,
within your heart when you were young.
Exit Doors closed with regrets.
The waves are not beautiful.
The fear of death tastes nothing like ice.
A miserable mixture of cheap gin and tonic, that is a straight gulp of unending silence would feel like.
You are in the stagnant waters now,
don’t forget to swim.