Blots

\Too Many A Glass/

I leave a lot to be desired. I'm still entangled in my barbed wires; quagmires of depressogenic fires.

At night I lay my wonder in the barbecued November, and remember, the embers of my blunders, that pull my heart

asunder; A hunter, set out to shoot his prey in waking slumber; in winter; a victim of constricting, subtle,

nimble, movements of destiny across his wall clock, a gridlock, of shell shock; an overgrown ensemble.

Tonight, I pen to you, I vent to you, my riddled body; I'm sorry, for eating up my soul amid that swollen, drunken

party; I hardly, had conscious mind enough to tell the snuff wrapped in my cigarette from my overflown Bacardi;

I thought my swaying vision; fraying; lacking termination; the sensation was a taste of letting go of my mentation,

I felt whole, I felt elated, my existence validated, as midnight befell the drug cartel in silent, slow-burning stabs of

anarchy; the marquee, dividing every human in society, grew fainter as the pastel of a painter;

Lamenters of reality, tormentors of duality; now lay disintegrated in belated abnormality;

From thence; the portal to my immortal bond with intoxication, flung open, an oasis of damnation;

A pavement, strewn with bottles of whiskey and bereavement; an aisle, of miserable denial followed by another

vial; a liar! Trying to outrun his plaguing desire, knowing that none can pull himself beyond the sinking

mire; so higher, I climbed and climbed until I reached where I am, at present, a mixture of drink and anti-

-depressant; incessant, fury at my hiccups erupts within me, so skin me, my throbbing veins now ache to be

acknowledged; the carnage, of crawling through my days and nights on harness; a maze of tubes pumping life into garbage.

~•■•~

Forever am I destined, with liver and intestines, that will buckle, unless the drinks are suckled by medicine.

My wife and sons I can't see; for good reason- they've shut the doors and left me, bereft Me; pining-for-blissful-death Me;

Sometimes I watch as beds are wheeled beside me; they hide me; in blinds of spotless white, for I am not a pleasant sight, a trembling guinea pig with bunches of injections, screaming why me?

And doctors, like my voice, have fallen silent; the sirens, of wailing ambulances speaking volumes of my dry end;

And I haven't a moment yet experienced, while drawing on the crude, unliving fragrance of ventilated existence-

When I do not regret my dreadful choices, to let myself forever loose within the ruse of alcoholic vices.

Sometimes, a man with swinging bottle saunters by my window, and I hope, against hope, he sees me by my pillow-

And takes a better glance at what too many a glass have done me; a broken man living the ruined chasm of his journey.

~▪~

A/N: This is the most different, yet (personally) consistent rhyme scheme I've followed so far. The whole piece is, quite overtly, an account of a man who fell for too much alcohol and paid his dues. The poem runs like a rap, so great if you deciphered the rhythm! If not, well, vote and I might send you a clip of me reciting it lol xD

Cheers, noirvoid.