Drunkard

You do it for the fleeting feeling

Of pure bliss, stealing

The seat of your mind, controlling you

But you happen to like the taste, and the label too

Just one more, now make it two

Morning, afternoon, evening, midnight

Losing all sense of time and space–and your own sense of sight

“Where are you going?

The demons and the angels are crying

At such a waste of life.

What ever you do, don’t jump off that cliff.”

Ashkenaz, the ever living flame, and jerk

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