blondemaverick

Many of the greats drank What an excuse In the strive to find genius You slip into a fiery cinnamon liqueur And you don’t come up Until the 600-a-day are penned Or you’ve drowned Between the hissing and the burn Many of the greats slept in What an exemption In the quest towards inspiration You slip into dream shoes Walk a dreamy mile The sun ripping into your room Setting your darker belongings ablaze Your eyelids, dry and stinging The curtains could be pulled to If you pull yourself from the throe The biggest of us didn’t work Their passion poured into a typeset Sunrise to sunset Debt to woeful debt Room to room-and-board