Bryan Bukowski

And All Continues On

Have been drinking now for months, though the weeks can't tell apart.
Abandoned sleep, sour heads, a haze and confusion.

It doesn't feel like morning, yet the light is burning at the curtains.
The bleaching sun conflicts with this body's visual stench.

Aching eyes and the yawns before midday grating bones.
Pathetic attempts pushing for more than shallow thought
though abstracted and muddled by lack of continuity.

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