A Toast...For You

So how long are you going to hold it?
Keep acting like they don’t exist?
Knocking ‘em back like that…
Unspoken words burn backs of throats like shots of alcohol,
so I hope you can hold your liquor.
Keep dancing around your thoughts,
but you can’t run from you forever.
I never took you for the alcoholic type anyway.
So if you don’t mind…
can you please stop tongue kissing the bottle.
Silence doesn’t suit you.
Blessed with the ability to perform lyrical gymnastics.
Every time you try and speak after swallowing your words I can hear the sounds of the vocal holocaust trapped inside your trachea.
New age Hitler,
it’s ok to be human sometimes.
What is it that you’re not saying?
Or did you leave these thoughts in between the parentheses legs made that night parked behind bushes?
Did you think I didn’t know?
Did you confuse your muse?
Keep sipping you silence,
maybe the taste will grow better over time…
Perched on top of your vocal chords are fermented testimonies that you soul never got a chance to make.
You should stop prepping you mind for battle,
your heart has been through too much already.
And you of all people should know best that a warrior that has nothing else to lose,
will gain everything by winning.
Those beats have never been that quite so stop trying to silence the music.
I’m not saying make a public service announcement,
but I mean c’mon son…
I thought we we’re better than that?
You can tell me anything you need to.
Who are you to decide for me what is relevant,
or not?
I recalled you telling me we could tell each other anything
Maybe I heard incorrectly…
Or maybe you’re upset that I chased your shadow when I could no longer find your stature by my side.
6 ft golden brown body,
I never thought I’d see this king fall.
I’ve tried to help you,
but you’re like sand gripped in tight fist.
Keep running,
pushing me away.
I promise you will succeed in your efforts.
Maybe that’s what you want.
Secrets kill souls.
so speak now or forever hold your Rest In Peace.
Maybe some things are best meant to stay unsaid…
So swallow,
let your words carve hieroglyphics into your esophagus,
leave them there until the next archeological metaphor finds them
and pushes them into your frontal lobe.
Maybe then silence won’t be so golden to you.
I know your throat is burning,
I can see signs of inebriation,
are your drunk yet?
I warned you to stop kissing that bottle.
Now it’s too late,
your next round of shots are waiting,
and who are you to refuse?
We’re too far of into this drinking game for you to forfeit,
so here’s a toast to you.
Cheers…