Now Dead At 63

I walk through the night, cold wind brushing my skin. Feeling I've lost all control, sipping slowly on gin. I look up to the sky at endless space and unknown. I feel worthless, unaware , reaping solely what I've sown. I once was a young man. I once thought I knew it all. I felt unstoppable, invincible, doing shots until last call. Each sip flowed through my veins bringing me comfort and pain. I forgot my troubles and my worries. It kept my feeble mind sane. The paper is crumpled and torn between my aging paws. The gin is burning my throat. The negative energy it draws. I found my saviour, my shame. I thought it took it all away. It brought diversion and ecstasy----- and regrets the next day. The flames burn fiercely in front of me. I see a man across the way. Am I looking in the mirror? I never thought I'd see this day. My reflection melts inside of me. The smoke is entering my lungs. Smouldering the last of what is left of me, I stare intensely at the gun. I descend violently to the ground. I can see yet I am blind. Bitterness fills my weeping soul. Memories infiltrate my mind. I hold the bottle in my hand. The mortal enemy beside me. I have spawned my mere existence. I have created my own destiny. Where am I? I do not know. Have I crossed the finish line? My mind races with memories but my heartbeat I cannot find. I’m floating. Can you see me? My eyes are big and wide. People told me this is heaven. I don’t believe them. I think they lied. Where is the light? Where is the peace? There are no sure things, no guarantees. I walked through my life waiting for tomorrow. Now all I’m thinking about are yesterday’s, my soul filled with sorrow. Regrets now consume me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The bottle there beside me. Now dead at 63.