A True Story of Drinking
A darkened world of dank false dreams,
painted with whiskey to mask my screams,
I'll blame the sun, the moon, the sky,
I'll blame the well wishing passers by,
I'll hide down deep in the sickly sweet,
I'll hide from myself my head to my feet,
I'll run from my body, heart and soul,
holding on to what swallows me,
I'll then swallow whole,
See me create a romance facade,
of every writer spurring drunken retards,
Bukowski & Ginsberg,
Kerouac & Burroughs,
mock their work with your life style,
dead poet brow furrows,
Darkened lines drawn across their face,
your whiskey, their words,
your cocktail's disgrace,
I'll call it art and jump on their wagons,
just to fall off of mine,
as their words pass me flagons,
Watch how I kill myself, long and slow,
spitefully swearing, "oh what do they know"
Borrow excuses to live in a lie,
to see at last truth, the day that you die,
That all this intelligence and power you've used,
was squandered, and raped...genius self abused
By David Nickle Read 3/4/18
All Rights Reserved By The Author
Copyright © David Nickle Read | Year Posted 2018
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