Drunk

black creatures crawl
in and out of your mind
you are a hostage
of the worst kind
the prize, the saddest prize
will be won when you die
and your desolate soul is free
and you leave behind
your tiny toys in a line
on the windowsill
above the debris
of your lonely life
while David Bowie’s starry eye
mocks you from the cover
of your favourite record
you dare to dream of being
a rock god like me?
a rock god? ha!
that, my friend
you will never be

no time is won for kindness
no lives are lost without gain
I fear you will die alone on a road
you hoped would deliver you
far from your pain
but instead brought you back
to the same hell cage
and I wish I could know
that you are okay
but you’re lost somewhere
between youth and death
not alive but too alive
and almost dead
you were going to shave your head
and then you chickened out
did you think your thinning hair
was all you had to offer
the beautiful women
you were hoping to snare?

strange how the girls were charmed
but their blindness bothered you
and you drew something like pride
from your blood, that warrior blood
because those girls knew
nothing of the real you
and yet you wanted them to
your ancestry is pure, you say
yeah, you told me twice
a knight without a quest
sinking further into the depths
of another and another
and another and another
the last, you say, the last for a while
you are the mirror
that reflects all of our pains
and our failings
and our weak minds
(or so you think)
you want to live…

but first you want one more drink

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3 Responses to Drunk

  1. Christina Waite says:

    This is beautiful Leigh. Very cool

  2. Awesome, hon. I have to admit I know nothing of poetry, but this was very touching. How easy it is, through alcohol, to get lost in the fantasy of who we want to be, blind to who we are.

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