Pestlementitis

A crying drunk and tears on my sleeves A bleeding heart all over the page So deep and profound Letting go with the pen Is this lfe about to end While another one begins A writing frenzy spurned on by intoxication The thoughts seem now like putrefaction Between the self-loathing tear stains smudged in time Broken thoughts and a half empty pen The readable crapula a very made head ache And something scribbled in crayon I think not to ever do it again