Slow

Applauding a writer is like kissing a prostitute. Sure, they've performed a valuable service and perhaps they've even shown you a new trick or two, but that doesn't mean you love them.

I thought of that line during intercourse. I'm not sure if that impacts the validity of that statement or not.

There's a slow degeneration here.

You wake up, you work hard - or not,

You poison yourself during the downtime.

I'm not quite sure why you have to do this,

but it makes the march forward bearable.

There's something about this that's sublime,

Draining bottles of wine,

Leaving nothing but piss and broken glass.

There's a slow degradation here.

There might come a time soon where you have to quit,

But you won't take that chance to stop.

A line in the sand will be drawn,

but you won't take the stand.

You say that you've got nothing to prove.

But the boy drinking scotch halfway across the city,

Well, he knows otherwise.

There's a slow depredation here.

You prey upon yourself to sustain yourself.

Keep knocking them back,

Inhaling the smoke,

and putting yourself back up on that shelf.

Damocles would be proud,

and you wish you were as brave -

but he, at least, was never loud.

There's a slow saturation here,

As you fill up with emotion,

but you'll drown it in toxins.

Each breath that's oxygen,

Isn't quite enough.

You're sustained by your death,

But your voice will ring clear.

Just don't slip so far down,

that there'll be nobody left to hear.