Survival of the fittest



I drink white wine

With raisins in it

After drinking tea

And Southern Comfort,

Knowing Iíll get

A handover

In the morning,

And I donít care,

I keep looking

For answers

In the bottom

Of the glass

I know Iíll never find,

All thoses

What ifs

And do overs

I know I can

Never retrieve,

Always the silent

Lost soul

Condemned to

Wait and watch

As you move on

Never able to

Make sense of anything,

Never able to find

Happy Hollywood endings

Only the bitter taste

Of survival of the fittest

You long ago

Learned all about.



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