Dying in a monologue

I'm sobering up in cupid's ward tonight.
Vacuum's bliss. Oscilloscope's cheeps. Oxygen's masks.
Back home: I'm writing this letter with broken arms.
I'm running these miles to come up with your look, I'm addicted to
alcohol to push my ego.
Am I completely mental? Speaking is such a damn habit that I almost forgot.
In denying my appearance I'll meet you in the next booze. Straight
towards the abyss.
Did you know that you are so beautiful?
I'm fighting for things I can't reach. Are you worth it to kill my dreams?
Is this world going crazy or am I?