Friday, October 22, 2010

When John Barleycorn Was My Friend

Drink drank drunk
Long a speciality
Quaffing with mates in convivial bars
Or sotted alone at home creating worlds in my mind
The slur of the word
The stumble of the step
Saying without thinking
And doing so loudly
Believing my own lies
Making up new ones
Echoing them wherever I go
The life of the party
The death of my pride
Running asunder over anyone in my way
Next mornings should have been a clue
The head filled with little jack hammers
The body run over by a tank
The stomach angry and defiant
So of course
A hair of the dog
The pattern ad infinitum
Guilt washed away by more liquid
Remorse saved for another time
The exhilaration of the next high
Living in the sloshy liquored world of my mind
So much more “FUN” than the “REAL WORLD”
Too much is just a start
Limits do not exist
Nothing matters anyway, except of course, the liquor
Then at last...
Spiraling, diving, falling, plunging
Lucky to crash
To find myself broken, beaten and lost
Seeing at last a glimpse of how I really was
The world I’d wrought for myself
Hoping to make a new life
Not easy
But knowing the alternative
Is to go back
No thanks
No more for me

No comments:

Post a Comment