Whiskey and Manuka Honey
Tend to help the creative side of me
Oh! Feeling a bit Hemingway today
There’s no point trying to fight it, I always say.
Empty shells fresh from their cylinder cells
Cold hard steel
It is all that I feel.
Hazy thoughts and mixed emotions
Wishing my tea was some kind of potion
To break the spell
To break me out of my self-inflicted hell.
Distant, I am. So far away —
I am a rope — frayed
A chip in a cup
A rip in the seam
Remnants of parts to an old whole