I am quite sad that I have gone mad.
No comfort but liquor and a warm bed.
Dazed and confused I sit and I ponder.
A washed up old writer with no sense of wonder.
Evaporated inspiration rises from the page.
A maddening liquor induced wanting, reaching rage.
All alone with no characters to encourage this failed shell.
No humans around and no more wish you wells.
Oh, how Iâ€™ve lost it! I wish I could go back.
My drunk hand canâ€™t write; I have lost my knack.
I like the bad habits that are running through my veins
Tempting me with beauty, bathing in my shame.
I have said it once before, I will say it again
I am quite sad that Iâ€™ve gone mad
A soul was once within