Inebriate
Insanity constantly enslaves and mocks
No break, no pause, the appetite always knocks
Enough, never registers, his life, it sucks
Beer and gin, in his long gut line up and flock
Rich pockets, poor soul, behind the prison’s lock
Inversely proportional life, on the pluck
Always emptying bottles all round the clock
Time is in motion but his, suffers a block
End of this story is bottom of the rock
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
