drunk poet II: raw meat

nobody to talk to tonight
I'll fall to this desire
this stupid daydream
where I'll take you away

but what will we do?
I warn you with words
shouldn't even write
it ain't right
to put this through

how can the poet
rhyme and reason
when all his life
is fearsome?

can you take this loss?
can you feel it so raw
growing, taking form
can you?

I should not.
but if I lose it
I feel it in my meat
it won't come back.