Trying to find god at the end of the bottle
Try finding it on the end of my stomach.
Puking butter chicken
And what remains of my pretense
“I thought you didn’t need anyone?”
Self-sufficient on your own thought,
And needing only your own company
I never wanted to exist anyway
I didn’t ask too
And now that I have no choice in the matter
I will drink till I reach home.
A blurry uber drive,
And I surrender to the fresh grass.
It’s still there. Stooped Over.
The remains of last night.
I’m not as strong as I thought I was,
And in that guilt of being alive
I’ve lost my eyes.
© A.R. Minhas 2018