Until
Alone, this evening,
I see despair and darkness
wrestling in the wind
with these questions:
How much misery do I need
until I say enough?
Why must I still have to stay
instead of sayin' goodbye?
The beer in the gleaming glass
is like bubbling brook,
tempting me to quaff its acrid taste
to let the pain peter out
until my brain feels a brief
oblivion.
Copyright © Maris Warrior Tuazon | Year Posted 2020
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