Peppermint and Failure

 Predawn on a dreary day, A once imposing figure of a man laid on a picnic table in a small park in the middle of town reading a tattered paperback and drinking tiny bottles of Rumple Mintz, unsuccessfully ignoring the world around him and failing quieting the demons that corrupted his thoughts.

 He hears the scornful whispers of the passers by, the painful words heard so many times before, words that tear pieces from his soul. The pain in his massive chest growing worse...

 Setting the book aside he chugs his last bottle and lights a stale, half smoked Camel greeting the first sliver of daylight miserable, drunken, and stinking of stale smoke and liquid Christmas.
 New days, old days, they are all the same days when you fight with demons and can no longer embrace the pain...