literature & booze
Literature & booze
Poor Edgar his world was dark, laughter was
a gasp on dying lips. He mined the deepest
the ravine where not even the summer sun reaches
but he was able to, in the moment of clarity that
lit up his tunnel, to give us great literature,
a look into his world of horror.
There are other Edgars who walk in our streets
or sit in lonely rooms wearing a cape of despair,
their laughter too is a shriek of agony, a bitter
smile set in a pale face of utter defeat, for they
cannot articulate and share with us or turn them
suffering into readable literature.