The man's heart aches,
but his woe is lifted by
the desire of having his bed
warmed by foolish fornication.

The bottle is empty
yet his head is filled
with demons,
the conversation is
macabre yet hard
to translate from the
transient slur of speech
caught between his
tongue and teeth.

His cigarette won't light
from the naked flame
at the end of his finger,
something inside him
burns leaving the belly
of life marred by its
fervent addictions.

God hates him profoundly
but he's cool with that.