I sink, so deeply, in my chair
and spend a while, without a care;
I ponder, just a moment, in the silence.
For life, it seems, is long and dark
yet in the night, I find a spark:
a gentle hand to offer love and guidance.
I gaze across my darkened room:
a barren, foul, yet peaceful tomb,
in search of something close to inspiration;
a whiskey bottle to my left,
a broken heart deprived of rest:
a dangerous, yet perfect combination.

I take a glass and start to pour
in hope I’ll feel this pain no more,
I grab a pen and search for scraps of paper;
the alcohol begins to flow,
my tree of thought begins to grow;
until the branches start to thin; to taper.
I suddenly begin to see,
it all begins to dawn on me:
this liquid holds the key to my salvation;
my mind is filled: it’s fit to burst!
I need to drink, to quench this thirst;
I need to cure my mental dehydration.

Ideas and words come flooding in,
the sights, the sounds: a joyful din;
is this the closest that I’ll be to heaven?
The pieces, they just seem to click
but now my head is feeling thick,
for one glass swiftly rose to almost seven.
My barren tomb begins to shake,
my concentration starts to break;
it seems that I am losing my conviction,
I slumber in my chair once more,
tomorrow it may be the floor;
for I cannot control this cruel addiction.