Just One More

I've never been taught how to cry.
It's always just been there
spewing piss out my eyes.
And I've never known why.

I don't even know if I've
just now become that guy
who tries way too hard to be liked,
who, in our story, ultimately dies
in a sequence--this three years
later sequence--under this grand delusion
that he's as unique and great as eight pure snowflakes
sliding down the basement halls in perfect mediation.

Well, take a good bottle of wine. Pry it open.
Pass it around and remember to take your time.
Remember to pace yourself for the uphill climb.
You don't want to get piss drunk before nine.
There's just way too much you want to get off your mind.