There's a noose around your neck,
where you've hung your expectations
Too high.

stumbling home
in the evening
with my breath
smelling of cheap beer
and cigarettes;
people worry,
I tell them not to;
I do this for me,
not for attention
or sympathy,
I do this to feel
more alive,
because I feel so
dead inside
and my thoughts
are racing;
drinking shuts them up
for a couple of hours
and I feel better;
I feel sick,
but I also feel
great,
like I can do anything;
like nothing can hurt me;
is this what death
tastes like?
god,
I hope so

A poet in love is like a match soaked in gasoline,
And when a poet falls in love,
With someone no more than another poet themselves,
A catastrophe is created.