I've got a sinking feeling

I made swift decline
upon the escalator
holding these rails, as I died
at the top, crumpled
my carcass, left to rot
I had tried my best
truly I had, but
gin and reform don't mix
petty dealings molded
my mind to mush...
what started as a fad
is truly a riddle, penchant
for the clerical
working nights at the library...

Thoughts homicidal, unbridled
became nasty and nagging
I'd vary in ways, follow for days
hitchhike all the way, to no end...

Nasty these habits, as the gin
got worse, it would impede
my course, weekly, monthly, daily
the pudgy, thin young, old, sick
I am told, there's no sugarcoat
for this, Gin slips like silk
these vivacious people
and their...
appetites.

Perfect match for my thirst
in an evening, at first
then I go for this Quasimodo
obtuse looking fellow
hanging around my health shelf
A mastiff this guy, my god
he cried, trying to impede
my thoughts...

IN MY MOMENTS NONE THE LESS

I enjoyed his torment, immensely
washed up
closed up
hit the streets of BE
like a pangolin in heat
prowling...

I didn't see the truck
till the final seconds
frozen in still stock
blinking...
next thing I know is
this escalator to Hell
well, I've got a sinking feeling
there should be coins...

no really...