I wrote my last poem yesterday
So why
Am I
Writing again today?
Stubborn, I guess
Ornery
Unwilling to accept
My own epitaph
Poetry is death
Each line
Lays claim
To being my last
Until one more line
Stumbles in
Drunk
Disorderly
Incoherent
Emboldened
By its' own intoxication
Christ,
What I wouldn't give
For one sober line
Before I end
This life of mine
But I'm afraid
I'm addicted
To the drug
That has claimed the lives
Of many men
More potent
Than alcohol
Or heroin
Is the pen
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