I sit here and write my heart,
Call it an art,
And expose my soul to the world

I sit here and struggle,
with problems that seem to double.
A never ending tirade,
that just makes me irate.

I smoke and drink to avoid my soul,
only for it to catch up the next day.
I struggle with reality and turn to words instead,
and yet i cant get out of my head.

The problems are never ending,
but neither are the words i right,
as i down the bottle
and prepare for the night.