Bottled Up

No more whining about pain
Learning to just take the strain
A tad less smoke, of course the booze
Numb skull or lucid, mine to choose

The opiates lose potency
For a man not prone to decency
Who takes a pull of cheaper wine
Dying slowly on his vine

Some fool says to take the cure
Live my life, remaining pure
I'm still inclined to hesitate
And swill more as the hour grows late

I will recover, that I swear
I'm not quite beyond repair
Drop the bottle, watch it break
Seems there's just too much at stake.