A Tragedy by Cody Davis

A Tragedy by Cody Davis
Old habits make themselves new,
and you a plethora of reason
remains silent,
like a mattress on top of a hic-hic-hicupping bum.
Oh saint of depression deliver means of free,
3 bottles of wine
filling stomach and surroundings,
killing nerves to numb
and numb to necessary necessitation.
My limbs have grown old and fragile
My teeth are dry and powdering away
Fear fills heart and foam fills my nose and mouth. 

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