wumingxing

This was supposed to be a blog long long time ago. If it wasn’t for the busy schedule and for the workaholic drives, then i could have scribbled these thoughts off me into a blog back November.

I find it soothing to pour my thoughts out everytime i feel dead drunk of all worries and frustrations. And the groggy feeling is oftentimes so addicting it gets you off your balance. You say then "Darn, hangover!"

Most of the time, drinking lasts for months and it’s so temptingly pleasing you lose grip of time while wallowing over the disoriented unfortunate events. You sweep your ass all over the puke-covered floor asking the moon and the skies to watch over the stars that you ones gazed at every night, and even day. The tears are so alcholic and the bitterness of the denial you cannot express in lucid intervals were all given their own turns to speak out… and you puke their overwhelming reactions.

No one would understand the literature behind this kind of blog founded in wrath and desperation. But when you feel with me how my soul wanted to say the words in their "rawest" state, you would understand what my heart tells you to remember. Never give what you cannot swallow!

Their is never certain in Poetry. That’s why i love speaking through its tongues. It gives me a cushion to express the deepest thoughts i can imagine as i drink my own set of alcohol and batter my heart and brain off the scorching battles without so much hurt. Long time ago, i made myself drunk to endless, and the days after are dead sloppy, and groggy, and sleepy, and greatest of all, crooked. But as i pick-up the pieces of the broken glasses scattered over the floor; as i walk barefoot skimming over the room; as i try to find the cold bath to cool me down, i surprisingly realized that i scratched my feet with the broken glasses, and they bleed profusely insanely mad! Darned, this hang-over, i had too much!

When poetry speaks, it is always uncertain. I would respect your version. And i have mine to hide. Never have i been literally drunk because, i can’t. But ones upon a time, one glass was offered to my heart and mind, and i took them in through a straw, soury sweet, sparkling and warm. Before the Night ends, i had 68. And the sun rose, the night came, the dawn breaks all over and over and over again. It’s a headache.

But one day, i realized that finally it’s over, i took my daily bath, my hearty meal and walked back brisk and strong. I am finally Hang-over Free. As my poetry speaks its end, i bow, you call the shots in your puny playful mind. Care for a toast?