lost himself at the bottom on the bottle.
Again.
He was a scream,
looking for a mouth.
Entangled by a spiritual tape worm,
as each velvet swig trickled down his throat.
His dis-contentedness sheered,
over the bubbling cauldron of opioids.
Admiring the smell of snow balls,
ever-increasing desires insued when they were brewed with golden cinnamon.
Trapped in the eternal quagmire.
He loved this place, this place loved him.
Thus spoke the diety,
contained within this piercing container.
Every time, every time, every time.
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