Daniel Hazelhoff : writer, poet, rapper

Still drunk by the sea and my mind
Subsided with the fumes.
It is nice and quite in this gloomy place.
Dank and, scarce are the faces.
I must admit I do truly love it.
The tremulous nights in the bars.
The pars that let a weak mans knuckles fight against him self
As a stranger.
But never estranged from the night.

Still drunk by the sea and my lips,
Still smoke this cigarette,
Even though most grandmothers die of cancer,
And fathers, weighed down by early deaths,
Kill them selves, to feel ever-lasting regret,
Whence they are one with the cosmos,
Leaving their
Wives behind,
And their kids, still stuck with there perfectly clear seeing,
Blind eyes,
And, of course, bloody noses
As red as the dank roses they smell.

Still drunk by the sea and I might sleep here.
Sleep here and not think of the past.
Of the broken glass and the blood ridden rug,
Of the mug and the whore,
And the dog with the bite and poison ivy sores.

Still drunk by the sea the sea and I might not manage.