Poetry is for the faint of heart,
The sullen, the fallen, and the lovers of art.
Sad men crumble under the weight of a cruel world,
Beaten, bashed, broken, and hurled.
Sad children open their wrists,
Fighting pain with pain,
No father, no mother, they cry out in vain.
God said love was the law of the land,
Give love and in front of St. Peter you’ll stand.
But how can I give what I haven’t received,
That part of me has drowned, and no one grieved.
What dragged it down into a deep blue grave,
Was our notion that sinners need only behave.
So my other half drowns too,
In whiskey and wine,
To dull the emotions, forget, and pass the time.
So here’s to us sinners, us drinkers, us men,
For life’s a hungry bitch and she feeds on the broken.