Tumbler

The rocks are inebriated.
Your hands hold a block of granite,
covering ears that are a magnifying glass.
You are a meltdown, from a countdown,
bound to happen before the bath
at the bottom of the insulated tumbler.
You always fall, failing to learn,
to walk around mountains that you cannot climb.

Now you’re twisted, and tied up in knots.
Will your heart ever, be more than ice blue cold?
A whirlpool of a mind you just repeat;
the good time turns to habit, then addiction that you never meet.
It’s a wonder that it all simply does not pour,
like a tidal wave straight out onto the floor.
A black hole sucks you in, and there is no understanding once again.

If every argument could be written
it would be a collection, of your ideas untrue,
a priceless work of your very own view.
Your generalizations to avoid conversations,
to face who you really are through and through.
You’re burning eyes of anger with no one to aim at.

When the fallout strikes,
it lands on all who are around you
as each time you hurt
they become less true,
your being sloppy is no longer new.

The chaos of your universe comes to order
when you rise and shine for chores.
Your familiar self finally shows after two,
and then you separate on the rocks.

A different face you wear so well,
friendly and happy it seems at first,
but slowly and certainly turns to ugly.

You reach for your tumbler,
but it’s becoming stale.

The world is now distorted !