I think I lost my ability to write sober and it scares me shitless
Everything I've ever wrote that's worth something has been a product of drugs
Everything that has ever rhymed
and flowed
and ebbed like the sea has been a result of alcohol
I am a cliché
All of my thoughts are the same recycled ones of the media and social influence that are only brought to surface with chemicals in my bloodstream
All of my romanticism and pain and obsessive verses are mediocre when I am not high
I am not as creative as I claim
I am a fraud
I am a fraud.

Would you still love me:
If the sun prevents its light
And the moon its glow at night,
That all at once becomes gloomy?

Would you still love me:
If all things awry go
And nothing at all to show,
But a good token of misery?

Would you still love me:
If my arrow cannot kiss
Thy waiting bow's release,
To have a bout of ecstasy?

Would you still love me:
If medical reports say "cancer "
That has no surgical answer,
Or another form of infirmity?

Or would you only love me:
If my life wields a touch of Midas
With the revelry of Las Vegas--
All sublime, all sweet, all rosy?

Talk the walls down and drought the moat of emotion

Always wanted Her but she ran too fast
Doesn't matter id never last
Got some drive but no destination
Lost with a road map no transportation
Your hand in my headlights
As I drive away...