Wine is bottled poetry and a hangover-the wrath of grapes!

You drink so you may be intoxicated,I,so it may sober me from other intoxications..You ask me not to but I feel important when am high and when owing to that am tended to and caressed,the predilections howsoever silly,cared for and I have you by my side,someone I can hold on to when about to lose control..it's a matter of importance.It's symmetrical to an eccentric's own world.Like it gives the insane a better sense of security and importance,it does to me too..I feel a lot of things that I otherwise can not.The sense of reality wavers my faith in the higher power and at times relinquishing the grasp on it restores it making me cajole me that God's not dead,just drunk!There's this implacable longing not giving in to appeasing of any sort,as imperious as any other,as ubiquitous as the frogs in the rain..the desire to be important which is seldom gratified.The paranoid that I am..even the cuckoo seems like the harbinger of the harsh truth that wrecks all my dream ships on the harsh-sharp rocks of the reality so I resort to the sunny aisles of crapulence..my youth saunters past,the specter of my future mirrored in the goblet.My humble request is even if you can stretch out a hand and restore my so called sanity..don't do it.I am much happier as I am..