Not about anyone in particular.

"Swimming" (#56)
It's easy to be happy
swimming in vodka,
with all your friends.
But what does it mean,
when you can't be
happy alone?

You go out all night,
come back mornings,
and you're not you.
I hold your hair back,
and you swear that
it's the last time.

Why should it?
This drunken stupor
is the closest you'll
get to happiness.
So I say go on
drinking until you die.

I wish I could do
the same, but I'm
so far down that
there's no point in
getting back up.
I'll always be here.

I wonder if this
anguished dignity
is really better
than what you have.
All I know is that we
can't be any other way.

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