Analysis of To Yerofeev

I want to understand your madness,
how you raged beneath God's gaze
like an angry child, ignored;
shouted, screamed, painted your anger
in blood-red syllables of furious hatred
and precarious scribblings of vice and guilt.
Why has He foresaken you
with a liquor-burned, muddled tongue,
a weak heart and haughty spirit,
a roving lover, and repugnant seed?
Your sins struck a dubious shame --
Machiavellian, Napoleonic --
burdening those you had sinned against
'til you rose like a Phoenix above them.
You cheated and won -- a ruse, a con.
You were His image, you were God's body,
and you defiled His voice with each reckless sip,
cheated his brethren with each word you spoke.
God willed the sadness. God was the drink.
And you were the Apocalypse.