Driving to the Bottom

Under skin,
my nerves burst,
capillaries writhe,
while I drive my own hearse,
down to the the bottom of the bottle,
pedal to the metal, full speed, full throttle,
and I wish I could define,
all the things that I find,
when my brain's drowned in booze,
and I've got nothing to lose,
but it's like trying to name a pain,
or identify that little stain,
on your soul.
You just can't know.
because who knows why you keep draining,
trying to seperate from life,
always trying to make a fog so thick,
you could cut it with a knife,
maybe because the pain,
that introspective shame,
Makes feel like your soul is stained,
I know because I feel the same.