If youve ever had a drink to forget things, and end up thinking more about them, you might wanna peek at this
And peers into the glass, swirling the liquid around aimlessly
Takes another sip, feels a kind of pleasure
As it burns its way through, a brush fire in his throat
Burning like her words to him, that last fateful day
When it seemed that she had little else in mind
Rather than spiritual torture, urging him to scream
So she could revel in his anguish as he drowned anew
These white walls surround him now, mocking his efforts at happiness
Penning in a spirit used to leaping into pools
From ludicrous heights
Now scared as he sees the rocks rushing up
Cringing as he comes face to face with...
The bottom of the glass again....
Nervous, he tries to refill this cathartic drug
With unsteady hands, soaking the table...
Soaking into his spirit, this sense of defeat
Like a taste of heaven hanging in his mouth
Ringed now by oceans of acid
All because he was too foolish to see trust slip away
Like a shed robe from a maiden in a bedroom
And see scorn leering as a jackal
Making dashes at his rebelling body
As he wills it to move and it scorns his appeals
Urging himself to rise from this plateau of defeat
And move on to different, higher mountains
All is alone as the dust blows, stinging his eyes
And he rubs them to find...
The glass is empty again
So he refills it
And on goes the shame and the self-revulsion in an endless stream
Fueled by a supposed healing drink
Until he is enwrapped in its beguiling influences
And the bottle of his soul is empty finally
Where does he refill this?
The search continues...
Poetry by Dominic
Read 868 times
Written on 2006-10-25 at 17:27
Tags Alcohol Memories
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The Drinker
He sits in the dim corner of the bar, face lit by candlesAnd peers into the glass, swirling the liquid around aimlessly
Takes another sip, feels a kind of pleasure
As it burns its way through, a brush fire in his throat
Burning like her words to him, that last fateful day
When it seemed that she had little else in mind
Rather than spiritual torture, urging him to scream
So she could revel in his anguish as he drowned anew
These white walls surround him now, mocking his efforts at happiness
Penning in a spirit used to leaping into pools
From ludicrous heights
Now scared as he sees the rocks rushing up
Cringing as he comes face to face with...
The bottom of the glass again....
Nervous, he tries to refill this cathartic drug
With unsteady hands, soaking the table...
Soaking into his spirit, this sense of defeat
Like a taste of heaven hanging in his mouth
Ringed now by oceans of acid
All because he was too foolish to see trust slip away
Like a shed robe from a maiden in a bedroom
And see scorn leering as a jackal
Making dashes at his rebelling body
As he wills it to move and it scorns his appeals
Urging himself to rise from this plateau of defeat
And move on to different, higher mountains
All is alone as the dust blows, stinging his eyes
And he rubs them to find...
The glass is empty again
So he refills it
And on goes the shame and the self-revulsion in an endless stream
Fueled by a supposed healing drink
Until he is enwrapped in its beguiling influences
And the bottle of his soul is empty finally
Where does he refill this?
The search continues...
Poetry by Dominic
Read 868 times
Written on 2006-10-25 at 17:27
Tags Alcohol Memories
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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