tinglihmg lips an teethe and I anot feel my legs or arms, it's lie My body is separate,
I tough my lips but I can feel my fingers, not my lips, and I can feel the floor but not my feeet an I hear French But Englih is my LanguAGE and I tye,
despareately trying to type like a normale, sober person, flailing like a silly girl, and exhaustion sweeps upon me like a tide,
in the morning I will be, fresh as morning dew, though not as wet,
and I will laugh at those with aching heads and swollen stomachs, and take a drink
and laugh again, but now - at 5am, with fibgers that cannot reach the keys, nor think whitch keys thye're at, I pray
That God wilol save me from Sambucca
But most of all
The world will save me from myself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.