I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.
When the landlord turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!
today i packed, did laundry, worked on a statistics project and pretended to be really stressed. i act like i have so much to do when if i actually just sit down and do what im dreading it takes 20 min and my mind wont be so foggy and i can breathe easier. I feel like my head is full of squashed flies at the moment, Except one thats rattling around and making my brain pound.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOmVoZ3emlLNm0o3IBjaydDwbBkcJNt1a9nFI5pv1IiTXQSp6TP4KZs6xusTNCuYdgk2UUQx7b8wlHzVwRfBYpgJcQ_fc19wdtEk40xR10uHpLRka2_g0Vj8d7gRWumeXSw32A_q_VwNo/s320/tzun995l.jpg)
1 comment:
That poem is pretty dope
don't be stressed doll although I know the feeling maybe we just like the adrenaline rush of being stressed because half the time I don't have anything to be stressed about either
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