I confide in you, Dear Reader:

I am as helpless to alcohol as

A baby is to a pederast.

I've got someone better

Than Jack Daniels, and his initials

Are JHC,

But I have a fourth trick, man,

And it is my life story.

"Sorry, kid, but I'm

Sleeping with your mom tonight."

Words like a blowtorch,

Melting my memory,

A candle waxing philosophical.

I left my scent on those little birds,

Busted their necks and

Bathed them in "human" water.

I was just a stupid kid,

I didn't know they needed to eat.

My apologies, sirs and madams,

For being too short for your tastes.

Likewise, I know you're mad at me,

Lisa, and you are a flame

That doesn't love me,

But I'll kill myself on TV.

Blamed sex and drugs

For my nails-on-chalkboard life,

But they're what I lived for as a teen.

I grew into my fathers shoes,

And every time I take a drink,

A patch of him disappears

From my face, like

I'm overcoming Agent Orange.

Got caught in books,

Their hooks dug into me

And I swam upstream

To find a seafood restaurant.

So now I'm a nihilist.

I shot that whore in the face,

Beat a hobo to death

With a copy of Atlas Shrugged,

Wiped my ass with the Mona Lisa

And pissed on American soil.

My bridges are as burnt

As my Godforsaken soul.

I speak from two tongues

Through a razor blade smile,

Whilst marching in the acid rain

And listening to the music

Of industrial machinery.

Nirvana, Zen, pinks,

Smashed a TV with my liquor

And it bled Christly wine.

Now I'm at AA telling you,

Hi, my name is Anon,

And I'm powerless,

A candle in a closed jar.