Whisky and gin
will blend
into the skies
ocean's plains,
Stomach pains
of the ulcers,
which I wish
I felt
of no pain.
I was born to dream
this whole world,
would disappear,
into a felt tear,
and God's heresy,
Our forgive-ness.
is our misery,
filth-ness,
and wandering,
home-less
are the streets
until we give in.