Man On a Bench
The haze falls again
Slowly caresses my brain
Aching
Suspended on wood
I know that I should
Be waking
On four legs does it stand
Supporting a man,
Who is quaking
The drink makes me sick
My thoughts, I’m not quick
In making
The wood of the bench
I grasp and clench
To stop shaking
Alone in my coat
Stomach starts to bloat
The hunger, faking
The Black night descends
And I make amends
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