Flammable Percentage

Sobriety is a sigh in the twitch
of nervous fingers; cracked bones that echo
across a wide-eyed stare roaming the room.

I want to skin alive every moment,
rip its fat face into tiny splinters
whilst screaming for flammable percentage,
the aches in toes saturate broken sleep
as the wind laughs rain through open windows.

Carbohydrates splash sanity like sound,
splitting grains of sugared lips with laughter,
and mad language on my tongue; it stutters.

Desire digs graves in quicksand notions
while malted barley skips and hops like death,
three beers growl fairy tales as golden locks;
amber piss stained, flow imagination
into shoulders, tense with reality.