Page 1, They speak of my drinking but never think of my thirst.

Drink in the salt water
I tend to wish it were tap
But I choked regardless
As it sifted down my charred,
blackened throat
Dead from years of dead form
Just fall right in
Like the diver who's been shot
They say we can't live without water
But what do they say of my alcoholic urges?
The derivatives are the same, but one result
lacks that kick.
Lacks the heart to twist the mind
And force one to piss in back alleys
and smoke three packs of cigs in three hours.
One result lacks the kick to sustain me
But the other knows that it can't.
It's label and this gorgeous young figment
Of my imagination chattering in front of me
Both tell me that it will kill me.
So what?

Die young to save yourself.

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