Another Drink

Tonight,

It's no different than any other night,

Another drink,

A glass of red wine,

Betwixt latent memories of prodigious prostitutes with,

Abhorrent diseases shattering their bodies,

I scoff at the thought of,

Being infectiously ridden,

Whether Mozart had herpes and if his music,

Was influenced by any disease,

Other than,

His brilliant fucking mind,

Another drink,

This one is to you, Mozart,

I never thought I'd say that about a man, at least,

A man as sad as I am,

You can't make art without feeling sad,

Or, at least as drunk,

As I may be,

I never knew Mozart,

And maybe that is for the better,

And maybe,

I'll have another drink