Words Writtten And Alcohol

Literature & booze Poor Edgar his world was dark, laughter was a gasp on dying lips. He mined the deepest ravine where not even the summer sun reaches but he was able to, in a moment of clarity that lit up his tunnel, to give us great literature, a look into his world of horror. There are other Edgars who walk in our streets or sit in lonely rooms wearing a cape of despair, their laughter too is a shriek of agony, a bitter smile set in a pale face of utter defeat, for they cannot articulate and share with us or turn them suffering into readable literature.