Is this it?
The fate that has been sealed for me?
Beer bottles, empty packs
and a twisted mind
only to write poetry
for the ones
who share the same demons
that fills their cup.
What's good for the mind
is clearly bad for the soul
you empty your pockets
so the whiskey fills the void
while waking up only to find pennies
to take a cab
that leads you to a place
where only your hang over self
can find rest
and that is
home
Anybody can be your home
you just need to find the right keys
to open it