that destination (what destination?)

this malibu and coke
tastes bitter upon my tongue.
and my head is spinning
and i'm grinning
for no reason at all.

where am i going?

i have plans, to leave this place
this home, this town, this land:
soon, i say.

yet three years seems too far away
when every day
is just like the one before:
the same faces and voices
asking what will i do --

what will i do?

i take another sip, another bitter swallow
on which i hope i choke.

but i don't.