Since I started moving forward it’s been its own reward.
I’ve got five familiar reds in front of me to ignore.
I drink to drink. To drink until I’m full is not enough.
I’ll sink and surface in the mirror handcuffed to a dream.
To drink until I’m full is not enough.
I’ll spit and bathe and bottle up and waste and want some more.
I swear that I’m the only one and Oregon or Bust! and life on the trail.
There has never been a next time.