Alcohol drips from your eyes,
your clothes, breath,
yet no tear washes clean twenty years.
Every morning, mid afternoon and night,
Desperation leaves his loyal mark on the table.
Permanent rings of lifeless bingeing
that used to make you cry,
to stop,
to let your tongue go dry.
Please end the wild beast that dances
inside your head.
You've created your own Bourbon street
to dance down, alone.
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