"No, no, go not to Lethe..."
                —John Keats

Ignore them, though they call you,—all the pills
   And liquor teasing playfully from the drawer,—
The leather belt, half on the chair, that spills
   Into a single loop onto the floor;
Fashion no crown of thorns with poisoned darts;
   And let the vulture fly an aimless flight
      That sees him make in vain each listless sweep
Till he forsakes his stalking and departs;
   For soon you'll blink into a dreamless night,
      And sleep Endymion's never-waking sleep.

O.O