If I was a drinker, I’d be dry on the rocks; if I was an addict, I’d be dead. I’m not proud enough to call myself a writer and I barely scrape by with the title “poet”. It’s not all the same, except it kind of is, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather be a maniac, or pure ****, with good definitions, than another ignorant sack of **** with lazy reasoning and a demeanor leaning towards believing "I’m above it" really means you are truly above it. If I was a gambler I’d go all in on my debt, and wind up missing fingers and half my life to say you truly believe in the things you say. If I was a violent man, I’d start more fistfights, and if I was more of an *******, I’d call you stupid. However, I’m not the boxer taking the dive, or the druggie nodding off on the transit, or the gambler with his mortgage on a pair of jacks, or the ******* that oppresses someone and plays the victim. I’m not the writer that made it somewhere big enough to ever be a has been, or a wash up. I’m a never-was. To say this is a sad song implies it’s not comfortable. I’m the *** of my own visions and dreams, and all my streets and alleys are only seedy because I wrote them that way. At least I’m not pretending I’m above it, while actively participating. Although, **** it, I guess nobody can tell from a distance.