The scotch pours down my throat
warm like lead just leaving
the chamber of a gun
tearing through me with
lethal intent.

The lines of my body
are blurred as though
traced by the waxy, dull
end of a crayon
leaving me unclear.

But clarity is overrated
and I prefer to leave myself
undefined and free to exist
outside the lines that try
to stifle me with parameters.

BB

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