March 25, 2005


I wallow in my
own filth and stench,
a mug of single-malt whisky
clutched in the hand
that trails ash
on my keyboard
as I type frenetically,
seized by a madness and frenzy
my two-fold intoxication
has induced,
stopping only to suck hungrily
on a fag or light another,
gulp down another mouthful
of aged Scotch or pour myself
another three fingers:
I am a poet and writer

and I would die young.


Anonymous me said...

this is good!!!
why don't you send this in too?

3:40 PM  

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