pen for the drug that
I lost my mind.
The debilitating buzz.
Slurring poorly written slam
to an audience of a complacent cat.
My dog died...
(he was a better listener.)
Sometimes I'm bold and proud,
the rest of my hours are spent
cruelly staring at a genius
that'll never materialize.
Fraternize with the enemy.
Maybe choke down a cat call,
a copper brew, a smile to say
I'm prone to poor decisions.
Attention comes at a price
we're all paying. A dilemma
we often ignore, but
I need this more than
you ever care to know.
Acknowledge me,
Cater to these
intoxicating fetishes.
Habits, demons drowning
out the cries of nature's better angels.
I, a casualty in an unholy war.
Alas, the angel before me now
fills my glass, and again...
