Make Rent

You labeled us all dead
but who is in the coffin?

I must confess,
you confuse
me with your words
as often as you

Who were you
in your drunkenness,
stumbling in the darkness
of what you saw?

The more I read your work
the more I want to know you
and the more I know you
the less I want to.

Writing about life
real life,
without fortune,
alcohol fueling genius
and pain.

I feel your words
you often seeing what I see,
knowing what I know
the dead surround us

are us.

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