The Dots Of Life

Rereading is bad. I think, I write like a drunk or a junky, but not any good ones and I hate needles and the bottle. Drunks think they're so funny, but laughing dead weight on your hip is seldom ha ha. I could go further, but you might need a bucket and a new liver on standby. Nor do I remember, all these stealthy striped mosquito's. They used to be giants, ungainly and with at least a buzzing warning. So thank you mr. freighter, I hope your bilges rot in briny deep, from a storm that wipes the 7 faces clean. What's the half-life of forever anyway?