Drunk Poetry

Nota previa: Hoy me siento incapaz de escribir lo que me gusta leer. Abajo, la clase de cosas que visitan mi mente estos días.

While all my friends are turnning eighteen, I'm seventeen and feel too old.
I expected to be sober by this very evening, but again all I heard was talk, only talk. The desire of living a quite healthy life disappeared in an instant and before gaining full conscious of my surroundings, I decided to fill a glass with a very cheap liquid and drink it all up, straight to my empty stomach. My hands felt numb for a few minutes and I knew by then I was good to go. Next, everything which seemed pointless before,
(-Awful shirt.
-Quit hash, you twelve year old bastard.
-Damn, you're stupid.
-I know a guy who might find a way to teach you how to dance properly. )

looked bright:

-That shirt looks bright on you.
-Your hash pipe is bright!
-You have bright ideas!
-Bright dancing!

None of this things was at all brigth, nor pointless. It was just there.

-Your shirt is blue.
-You are smoking hash.
-We think differently.
-You enjoy dancing. Wish I danced better.

I am not an alcoholic, I don't drink too much. I'm seventeen. I'm embracing life as it comes, with a little help from my friends.