Sober

Can there be anything better than getting hotter and colder and hotter and colder until...
some sort of death (sucks you out of the heat-of-it-all)... best before sober,
experiment the room with
WKD tests and ice-cubes, and the rest goes along all blue and tearful, full of years of
empty-hearts and sorrowful hounds, reading God's word, along with lines of poetry and poetic lines than say;
'I will not talk in class.
I will not talk in class...
I will not...
forget you did this to me, and I will fast and pray and fast and fast until I weigh less than I do already. Am I a mess? Am I a bag-of-bones? Ain't seven stone enough when it fills your eyes up, like a running bath, running out of disguises...?
I am a song and dance. I like to dance and sing. And when the song stops, and we all turn around,  like dead fishes, floating, ready to be lifted up to the
bright
white
light...
then (and only then) will I tell you the truth. Then: you will know who is who and what is what.
Then.. you can count everything that I got.
Then I will be sober.