Half Glass Full

Happiness might be
the ultimate cliche,
to afford ourselves a
dream as we
circle the drain.

And if our dreams
are merely convicts of
a colic reality,

is hope its
suspected accomplice?

If I’m being completely
honest here, I’m
permanently half-

I’ve got my
doctorate in bullshit and that’s
all that keeps
my optimistic
slow drip

allows me

will improve, enables me
to allude that were it
not for faucets

H20 would always
be a minimalist,

air pockets in my
conscience left to
collapse on
themselves would
be the center of
my existence.

Who the hell wants
to live that

I’d sooner
drown in my
obnoxious spirit than
make an appearance on
behalf of


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