It's not complicated

Writing from the slumped
sorry state
of self pity
somewhere near squalor.

This one's for going at it
too hard
and then facing the one
you love
to be told you're a cunt.

Dreaming a state
of alcohol tolerance
and then blacking out
to become not much more
than any of them.

'Just fuck off and die'
I shouted
through a crowded room.
I pass out
and wake up clueless.

Now, I hallucinte
shadows just outside
of my periphery.
I feel empty;
needing embrace.
This sorry state
that cost me my bank balance
and the one I love
stares at me
as I feel like a stranger
or something much worse.