Three pints of libation causes the satiation to be gratified.
My soul utilizing chemical means to absolve myself
From this existence, never ratified.
A hazy view of hope comes into scope;
Liquid dope infused into my left vein
Will cause a sullied stain.
The brain even feeling pain on its surface as
I try to breakthrough face first;
Into another life of purifying future thirst.
I must finally abstain while the rain pounds
Upon my body of mixed emotions.
There has never been a panacea, nor ever will.
No magic potions.
No magic pill.
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