Tag Archives: writing


on perfect Perfect is what perfect does, It molds lies into half-truths, Photo filters and fake smiles.   Perfect is what perfect says, A blonde girl and a venti cappuccino, Half skim, half whip, half-truth.   Perfect is what perfect feels, Like a mask that doesn’t quite fit, A dream half-realized, half -perfect, half-true. Advertisements


Do inebriates simply bathe in the booze they drink? Is that why the Friday fog is so heavy around them? Or is their hand-eye coordination so altered by drink that they miss their mouth and mop spills up with their shirt? It’s funny, because despite those missed steps, slurred speech and leering eyes, the drunken…