Intoxicated Hands

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 I’ve lost it! I wish I could go back.
My drunk hand can’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 I’ve gone mad
A soul was once within

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