Dying Slowly in Iambic Pentameter (or not)

of all the bullshit i write
and think about, mercilessly
it seems the truest thoughts
are the most fleeting

this is especially true
when i think about my dad
and my brother
and my uncles and relatives
slowly drinking themselves
to death

there's this thought that creeps in
right as i go to sleep
that their fate
is the same as mine
only, i am sober

but as sure as i'm
wasting my time writing this
fucking poem
some day i will sit
in a recliner chair
and with a tumbler full
of whiskey
i will close my eyes
and breathe in
one last time