by Warwick Lane
(Eastbourne, Sussex, England)
Another insight into my despairing alcohol driven world,
Where I revel from a tipsy state to the spinning swirls.
Dependence on the drink stems from sadness without it,
Sitting motionless with another bottle feeding my habit.
Failing in my attempts to relieve the pain lying within,
Circling vortex surrounds me of flaws, failures and sins.
Trying to remember the last time I genuinely smiled,
Not a fake expression of joy that was hastily styled.
Can’t even ask for help, it’s seen as attention seeking,
So I spend my life secluded as the voices start speaking.
I’m unable to escape misery as ghosts come to haunt,
Downing vodka attempting to numb their cruel taunts.
Don’t feel bad for me, I created this mess all by myself,
I was ready-made for love but I was left on the shelf.
Occupying the shelf alone, cold and covered in dust,
Every day that goes by my heart continues to rust.
There’s no end in sight for the man without meaning,
An empty shell drinking, while his insides are screaming.
Unless someone dares rescue this faulty, damaged man,
I hope for my own sake that there’s someone who can.
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