the drunken truth

the last little bit of aroma;
fumes spiriting from the tips
of my burning lips
to the edges of my flaring nostrils
the drunken truth
i'm taking an alcoholic day,
burned out from life
but still too afraid
of the steel of the knife
hiding beneath my bed;
a sickness still throbbing
in the back of my head,
so i incapacitate myself,
leaving the heartache
on the highest shelf,
to keep myself down,
to keep the hole from my head
so i can still frown
rather than letting the crimson spill
turning from red, to iron brown
staining my sheets,
ashamed of the heat....
i am too drunk to feel comfortable answering the phone,
an empty bottle sitting next to me while i lay in bed alone
while the majority of me refuses the need to make that fact known
i have a problem and i am falling but the fault i fear to own
is it acceptable
to call in sick
because i'd rather
drink than work?
turning the bottle upside down
letting the last drop drip
from the bottle tip,
a tasty nip
of the fire sip
as my mind gently slips
from insanity
to apathy
and i finally regain
my power over the shame
of losing her
to him.
Written by sammy4444
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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