the last time he went out of
his mind he liked it
so much there
that he never came back

not even after the
alcohol left
his blood

he keeps writing to this day

addresses women with 'sweangel'
a combination of sweet
and angel, I guess

but never spends more
than a matter of weeks
with any of them

some take pity on him
and some morbid curiosity

but no one loves him
truly
only his insanity

you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse

When people wanna leave I let them.
I never bother to fight.
This poem is just like the last one I wrote about getting let down.
They just get easier to write.

The only words I know to speak are ones I've heard from other people.
And my memory's now so weak Ive even forgot the rhyme.