Vice
I drink rivers of rum
for an unquenchable thirst,
or a hope that I may drown.
I build castles out of dreams
for some temporary glory,
or to preside over their ashes.
I love, like a Victorian loon,
for knowing no other way to feel,
or to revel in a shattered heart.
I give away everything I possess
for nothing, for indifference,
or because I’m a self-righteous bastard.
I write poetry in tattered notebooks
for you, or for no one at all.
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