Don’t let my liquor’d-up words worm too far into your brain. They may have left my mouth, but that don’t mean they came with a blueprint or a plan. Liquor loosens every filter, lets the garbage wander free, and sometimes what escapes the cerebral ain’t what the sober mind would mean. So how do you find the applicable snowflake of intent inside a blizzard made of words? How do you excavate a confession from a drunken pile of dirt? If I have something big to say, something important, something true, I’ll eventually find the language to say it soberly to you. So save your imperfect telepathy, your forensic search for clues. Replay with all the good days instead of hunting down bad news. Don’t set sail with conclusions Through the haze of a liquid blaze. The devil loves a drunken sentence With its distorted clarity. Because at best you’ll find a fractured reflection of a truth in the words that wandered out through a mind’s liquid lazy river. And a drunken thought is not necessarily a destination. Sometimes it’s just a worm looking for a dark place to hide. But if you keep feeding it, turning whispers into warnings, turning shadows into monsters, turning maybes into mornings— you can will a problem into being just by giving it a name. Foreshadowing the cancer before the body ever bleeds. Planting little seeds of suspicion, growing weeds where love needs peace. A retrospective rewrite, the cerebral lens of doubt, where every yesterday gets edited until a problem must come out. And suddenly the words I barely meant become evidence in your mind. Every drunken little syllable gets subpoenaed one more time. Worm words. Burrowing deeper than they deserve. Growing teeth they never had. Building monsters out of fragments and making innocent things look bad. So let the liquor have its nonsense. Let the drunken river flow. Not every word that leaves a mouth is a truth you need to know. If something matters, I’ll say it in the light. Not through a bottle. Not through a liquid night. Because love shouldn’t be a mining operation searching for a buried crime. Sometimes a fractured reflection is only fractured light. And sometimes worm words are just worm words— and nothing more.
