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Incriminating confessions straight from the brewery

by Timothy Wilson

One night it was way too late to be breathing
My house was hiding in the shadows of society and my anxieties at bay if only for the time being.
You wrote me a note and I swallowed it whole
She wasn’t a mistress but a doctor I had to call to pump my drunken stomach
As we all know it was too dark to be morning too late to be day and the chill of winter was king of space and time for our dark dark world.
She arrived promptly from one million miles away
I felt for the thousandth time a side show attraction
(Step right up, come see the most miserable man on the planet)
I hoped they would dress me as a mad scientist and I could win a peace prize
It was one hundred and two minutes too late to be night
People were getting their morning deserts at this hour for Christ’s sake
I don’t remember much of the night except sex and vomit
But clear as the day before yesterday I can still feel that morning
I woke up to a broken us
We would never be the same
For the first time I realized you would hate me with or without a reason
She comes to visit every month ever sense
Stop those tears at least you’re finally right about me

07/04/2011

Posted on 07/04/2011
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Wilson

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