The spirits passed down to me through my ancestry,
imbibe and intoxication.
The silence is there as a constant audience.
I shattered the glass, I peed in the street,
I said the most imperfect thing,
and watched them in periphery.
I held my glass,
by the sharp, broken stem
and laughed at myself.
I am a witch,
happy in the company of me,
the Mistress of Misrule.
I get the last laugh,
through patiently waiting.
My eyes are here,
We can fuck in the bushes.
Not too many see me,
and that is the way it should be.
Laughing in the corner,
we are all alone.
Might as well have some fun.
The addicts and comediennes have something in common.
And this is my surrender, my white flag and my olive branch.
You can meet me where the weak don’t play,
where a lady in red stands out amongst a sea of whiteness,
where the sparkler is a dud,
where the only choice is laughter.