I guess so.

My pen is an addiction like anything else,

I need it as much as liquor, girls, or grass.

But my place don't reek like ink or bleeding hearts,

So you can't see it in the looking-glass.

If it did, oh if it did,

If you could smell that rancor,

You'd run up to the bonny lass herself

And swiftly kiss and thank her.

For art has won, it's won today

At sanity's expense,

I slowly sink into the ground

She views atop her fence.

My pen is an addiction like anything else,

I need it as much as liquor, girls, or grass.

But my place don't reek like ink or bleeding hearts,

Much easier to see substance than a mind's unending impasse.

Much less plainly visible

But just as crystal clear,

More than I need another bowl,

I need you, I need you here.