These thoughts are extremely sick and twisted.

Yet they have words of hate, and wisdom both combined.

How can person a be clarified as sane

when they have a diseased solution to cope with the pain.

The chaos is making them numb.

Their solution is drinking rum,

but that makes the problem much  more dyer.

Now wearing verminous attire

of a run-down hobo.

Not knowing when to let go

of the abominable addiction

that causes so much infliction.

“Just one more,” they say

when the time has come to waste away.