to blame this
on anyone but myself
would be a catastrophe;
shattering what's left
of humanity.

drink, drank, drunk
into submission,
a fact; death awaits.
inevitability flows into
sanctity
at the end of a six-pack.

heavy concentration in time's
essence, foiled by delights,
intransigent by the world.
lost in paternal void
to fulfill some design
of desire, desolate.

driven by self glorification,
built on altruism, untrue
in every sense of self,
losing touch as you lose your mind.

falsehoods spread like wildfire;
spreading like disease, consuming
every speck of hope and dreams,
leaving everyone emptied in the end.