whisky business

pour him another, that boy's not going anywhere tonight. he's got a mind full of business, stubborn intellect. he's trying to rock the boat, drinking the nectar out of the prettiest of bottles but the gentlemen serving him makes him wonder just how pretty this could turn out, just how poisonous this stuff could be. he drinks and drinks and thinks and thinks. everything going down with a burning sensation. he has it working at a pace that is closing in all spaces, his eyes become beady and start shooting around, his heads in the sky but it feels heavy like sand. he's a bottomless pit, drinking like mad. he drinks for sudden numbness and a instant cooling that washes over his entire being. he lights feeling light, touching his thoughts with his tongue without a worry and the reflection of himself in the light is alway much more appealing than anything he had ever seen sober. he touches his thoughts. holds them in the fuzzy static that this oozing nectar creates for him. a swimming pool of jello, he feels like he might melt and he wouldn't even mind, so he orders a double and it's a race against time. him and a mindful of thoughts, drunken stuttering has got him trying to talk, and he even does mumble certain little truths that no one tries to catch because they think he's an absolute mess. risky business this man has got himself into, drinking his truths and trying to shoot the world with his insight. sober up and get your head straight, your mind will follow without such pounding mistakes.