A man with a bottle in hand,
filled with rage,
an apoplectic man,
savage of face,
vicious of mind,
frustrations,
irritations,
hot headed,
ranting and raging,
and smashing and crashing,
and intoxicated, and verbally abusive,
a bitter man in the street with his endless repetitions,
and endless hurt and pain, and as angry as hell,
and stumbling in the gutters at all hours,
with his head and his heart filled with pain,
and in a terrible way,
as the stars shine down so bright,
he is lost in a maze of his own frailties,
and unable to see the light,
and in such a state, that he is probably unable to be saved,
and wobbling this way and that,
with his eyes bloodshot,
and looking a little crazed,
just another night out in the city,
another night of self-abuse,
and distress and devastation,
and surely by the looks of him,
sooner rather than later, sadly, awaiting deaths fate.
