Inebriate

Insanity constantly enslaves and mocks No break, no pause, the appetite always knocks Enough, never registers, his life, it sucks Beer and gin, in his long gut line up and flock Rich pockets, poor soul, behind the prison’s lock Inversely proportional life, on the pluck Always emptying bottles all round the clock Time is in motion but his, suffers a block End of this story is bottom of the rock