The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide

Still Fatalistic

Maybe it was too much punk.
Maybe it was hating school.
 Could have  been the loosing bets; right to think it was the bitter pills…
 Here I am far past the storm.
No longer wishing I wasn't born.
Head above water but not in the sky.
From time to time I wonder why.
 I'm still fatalistic.
Conspiratorial.
Still Fatalistic, head turned backwards; hair over my eyes and throwing water against the tide.
I'm fatalistic, I'm fatalistic, I'm fatalistic...
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace