Too drunk for pentameter

I’m fucking sick of sonnet shit—

Professing love for people missed,

So I shall try just once at it

But with my lust for getting pissed;

​

Am halfway through this whiskey’s fifth—

A quarter more for sweetest bliss,

It doesn’t matter who I’m with

There’s half a tenth that’s left to kiss;

​

By then the rays of light seep in

While crawling to my angel’s bed,

I wonder if she smells the gin—

That stench of how I long for death,

As perfect rhymes just fade away…

​

UNTIL I DOWN SOME CHARDONNNNNAY!

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