I was just thinking of
the 27 Club.
Talented ones who
went far too soon.
Brendan Behan,
Jack Kerouac,
Dylan Thomas,
and all of the others.

Thinking of them, I feel
sadness and anger.
How arrogant, how self
obsessed, to just throw
it all away.
Drinking yourself to death
doesn’t mean that you are deep,
or a tortured artist. It just shows
you never grew up.
Acting like a immature
adolescent

‘No one understands! ‘
Boo fucking hoo !
Make them understand !
You’re the writer,
that’s your gift
Why not try to explain,
instead of choosing whiskey
again, again, and again?