In absinthe towers I lose myself to cheers
Between the dismal monuments of pain
I march along the plank of human fear
Towards convictions nested in my brain
With bottles full of magic rum I fly
Beyond the suffering of everyday
I glide towards the hills where I reside
In lands of sexual debauchery
A futile glass, a futile soul in me
But so much spirit in this glass I see
In this sweet land
A word becomes a million lines
With ease I write the odyssey of my life
A feeling multiplied
And stretched across the universe
A thinned down sheath of porous cheese
For Jupiter to see
Convictions rise and fall
Just like the heroes of ancient times
Achilles healed only to his own heel
But sentiments of guilt do linger on
The only heroes old enough to save the day
Are all those spirits in my cup, I drink
We age together in breweries of dreams
Between the barely and yeast
We fight against the sentinels and beasts
When everything is lost in life
Why venture on another trip afar?
When here in absinthe towers atop the world
Shabby bars, one-dollar whores and glory
You live like kings and get to tell your story!
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Character: 59/100
bohemiaspeaks 
Took me to thoughts of the world of Bukowski… v. powerful.
Check out this link: http://wp.me/pu9f9-Fl as I nominated you for a fun award. :)