Giving up the sauce
The whiskey on your breath
could make a small boy dizzy
I taste a liquor never brewed”
Emily Dickinson's - The May Wine
I am asking my hands to stand their ground,
vintage wine leaves my soul spellbound.
I don't know where my lips are bound,
my ears hear the glass clicking sound,
I desire to run fast like a greyhound.
Everyone is whispering loudly, I will come round,
some of them don't know my liver disease background,
since I started the sauce I’ve been living in a fantasy fairground,
I can't seem to write anything poetic or profound,
my pens are abandoned in my pity playground.
In pursuit of clarity, I dream of the grapes underground.
I still want them to swirl my tongue around,
I loathe my sympathy party frown,
once I fit in as the resident clown.
Copyright © Sabrina Millicent | Year Posted 2023
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