Tea Bee

With blood shot eyes and sunken cheeks
I tighten the vest I wore to commemorate
my degenerate heros

The party was not impressed
when they saw my red stained hanky
receive new speckles from my coughing fit
caused by laughter, at my own joke

"No im not ok! I am an artist, a poet, cant you see my hanky"
Shaking it in their faces, drawing it back quick
to catch my good humor, and add to my costume
Its a good thing I brought my own whisky to the party

"He looks mad"
"Yeah, but kind of good too, is that weird?"
I over hear, as I slump past the crowd

If my body cant keep up
then let me chest cave in
dispel the weak jeans I must bare
put them on display in my clenched fist

I will not stop singing, no matter the lack of air
Dancing will bring me to my knees, but I am not bowing
blame living in night, for the lack of color in my skin
Whisky will be my disorient, not this week-long fever

No story will come from lying in bed
"Even the butterfly knows how to die in the sun.."
"Dying Pretty, is living well.."