Slurred rhymes read,
as the audience is filled with dread,
the drunken poet and his dream,
untouched coffee sits and steams.

It all makes sense as coffee spills,
the words on the page have been killed,
all his work destroyed by *****,
even when you win you lose.

With loving kisses and swallowed burns,
the amber fluid, for it I yearn,
it kills the pain and frees the mind,
I never heed the warning signs.

The bottles sit upon the shelf,
tempting me and my mental health,
into the bottle, I crawl inside,
a temporary painless place to hide.