Among makeup, wallet, assorted sundry
Sunk to the bottom but always hovering in front
of my brain

Against my perfunctory objections
I grant that you reach for me
When conjectures and instincts are depressed
With loneliness, stress, doubt or beer

I concede to this vapid jones
this counter-productive inclination
and slighted, half-baked attempts
to cauterize my bleeding penchant
and absolve this lecherous taste

Fruitless efforts at fumigation:
Please say this bitter pill works magic
To rid me of this ineffective groove
this profitless intoxication

Still, I willingly comply
fake secure in my paltry convictions
that never follow through

Presently, I bear a pallid hack
and short breath that detains my canter.