Living Sobre, Living Dangerous

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

A thought of drink whilst in recovery

I know this scene, I've been here before

the clink of the glasses, and that draught from the door.

Sticky tiled floor and a toilet thats rank,

its a crystal clear memory, from a mind drunken blank.

Came here quite often, a second home you might say

not done this in years, I've stayed well away.

I can't say what brought me from the street to the bar,

Curiosity? The illness? Or drink smelled from afar.

I look on the punters and the drinks that they're drinking,

Lagers and whiskys and vodkas they're sinking.

They finish each beverage with a wink and a smile,

an expression that I haven't made in a while.

That voice in my head says ''You have one too!''

But I know all to well that one leads to two.

And two leads to three, and three leads to four

four leads to five, and five leads to more.

More leads to oblivion, and another night lost,

and more than just money, theres the emotional cost.

Then theres the next day, guilt, shame and remorse

The shaking and sweating from over active pores.

To get that to cease, another drink I would need,

but why should risk it, from that bondage I'm freed.

The thought of that torture makes me wretch and heave,

now I'm thinking better of it, I about turn and leave.

As I leave I remember, I shake head and sigh,

For me drink is not fun, for me drink is to die

Submitted: May 18, 2011

© Copyright 2022 bigderekkeene. All rights reserved.

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