Brown Water

Alone, I sit in this dusted room,

Surrounded by not, but thoughts of gloom,

These frames paint a picture of a life lived long ago,

In them, these venomous thoughts, as I wallow,

Reaching for the medicine, I crave,

To it, I’ve become a slave,

Some say the water will put me in a hearse,

But that brown liquid is all I need to end this curse.