Duck, water... i guess.

Thrown in the deep end
by some sort of friend.
Driven by days & weeks & months
sharp highs & slumps,
bumps in the road now seem to be the trend.
A wayward excuse, a message to send.

This may just be a frenetic phonetic poetic
assimilation of your pathetic ability to displease me.
The quicker, the better, whatever... right?
I might have been born yesterday, sir
but i stayed up all night.

You've been talking a lot but you've still said nothing.
I'm down a few drinks & you're still so frustrating.
Why should i be sober
when god is so clearly dusted out of his mind.
I'll crack an eye in the morning,
pull the knife from my back & get on with the grind.