All of my troubles sank
into the whiskey
I drank,
alas
when I finished the glass
they remained.

For too long I have reigned over
the gutters and drains and
pain's just a part of the prose.

If what will be is to be what then becomes when I'm free
am I to be cast to the devil for brew,
do I take on the ask and do I finish the task or do I
sink in the despair of not knowing  
should I care.

I cared for the talent of being a delinquent but that
was when I was a lad and
now I'm too old and too good to be bad
it is time that I found something new.