Drinking has been an exercise in
lunacy and sorrow,
like jumping off a cliff for
tomorrow's dead dreams.
The fruit of the vine should
be sweet and sentimental,
like mamas and moonlight.
With a fistful of memories and
a soul full of pain,
I try it all again;
I chase the phantom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem