Did Bukowski drink because it gave him the strength to write?
I wonder if he chose to lose the fight
Because freedom mattered more;
I can't keep open the door, but I swear I can see
A deeper light meant for more than me.

It's hilarious how hypocritical I am;
I call you out for your sham
When I'm exactly the same:
I'm each shattered shard I wouldn't tame.

We're a composite of desires and fears
And rhythm and tears
And all the things in between,
A search for the golden mean.