Sitting alone with a pen
While the darkness
And night closes in

***** on ice once again
Self medication
Has it's limitation

But then…

What's in a word
Or a glass
For that matter
As I sit on my ***
Contemplating the scatter
Of thoughts in my head

Sometimes I think…
I'd rather be dead


But the stink
When they broke down the door
Was so bad
That they puked on the floor


I'm sorry for the mess