My Dear

Happiness but a notion.

It must be at the bottom of the ocean.

Peace of mind the sole solution.

If not for the soul pollution.

An abundant vibrant life.

If not for self-created strife.

What seems to be the problem you ask?

Nothing you reply, carefully uncapping the flask.

Everything is just peachy.

The 38 just out of my reachy.

Don’t be so dramatic,

You pathetic addict.

Have no fear.

Here, the safety if off my dear.



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