Vice

I drink rivers of rum for an unquenchable thirst, or a hope that I may drown. I build castles out of dreams for some temporary glory, or to preside over their ashes. I love, like a Victorian loon, for knowing no other way to feel, or to revel in a shattered heart. I give away everything I possess for nothing, for indifference, or because I’m a self-righteous bastard. I write poetry in tattered notebooks for you, or for no one at all.