Charles Bukowski, in a poem written in the 1970s but not published until after his death in 1994, chronicled novelist Truman Capote's self-destruction. An excerpt from "Nothing But a Scarf":
Then he stopped writing altogether and just went to parties.
He drank or doped himself into oblivion almost every night.
His once slim frame more that doubled in size.
His face grew heavy and he no longer looked like the young boy with the quick and dirty wit but more like a frog.
The scarf was still on display but his hats were too large and come down almost to his eyes; and all you noticed was his twisted lurid grin.
The society ladies still liked to drag him around New York one on each arm and drinking like he did, he didn't live to enjoy old age...
Charles Bukowski, "Nothing But a Scarf," in Come on In: New Poems, Edited by John Martin, 2006
Then he stopped writing altogether and just went to parties.
He drank or doped himself into oblivion almost every night.
His once slim frame more that doubled in size.
His face grew heavy and he no longer looked like the young boy with the quick and dirty wit but more like a frog.
The scarf was still on display but his hats were too large and come down almost to his eyes; and all you noticed was his twisted lurid grin.
The society ladies still liked to drag him around New York one on each arm and drinking like he did, he didn't live to enjoy old age...
Charles Bukowski, "Nothing But a Scarf," in Come on In: New Poems, Edited by John Martin, 2006
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