Nameless

A kaleidoscope scene of empty liquor  
bottles, black ashes and torn out  
pages to feed the ravenous fire.  
 
Tattooed  
crows amidst my near frozen flesh,  
squawking about their next meal.  
 
13 unlucky hours  
left until I fall  
asleep again;  
my only companion,  
the chair I remain.  
 
Bitter, old man  
winter blows his furious winds;  
cold and ice reign.  
 
The pen; too heavy.  
My heart; too weak.  
 
Only in deep soliloquy  
can I understand my loneliness.  
 
My muse;  my pain.  
My life;  without name.