deepundergroundpoetry.com
Bottom of the pits
So things were as they should be
Drunk as a skunk
Waking up this time at home
Not on a bench
Or lost in the arms of a
Drugged-up wench.
Everything blurred
Ready for another round
With his dearest friend
Southern Comfort
Who brought a moment
Of oblivion
But the demons still
Always around
For the time being no respite,
No comfort to be found.
Drunk as a skunk
Waking up this time at home
Not on a bench
Or lost in the arms of a
Drugged-up wench.
Everything blurred
Ready for another round
With his dearest friend
Southern Comfort
Who brought a moment
Of oblivion
But the demons still
Always around
For the time being no respite,
No comfort to be found.
Published 5th Oct 2020
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Anonymous
- Edited 1st Jan 2022 9:45pm
5th Oct 2020 9:01pm
<< post removed >>
5th Oct 2020 9:15pm
5th Oct 2020 11:29pm
Toward the end my father got sick but he just couldn't give up the drink. It was only after he was gone that his boss had told us how many times he had found him on the street and bus benches sleeping many years before (we had lost contact with him for about 13 years).
Though the bottles or cans were full, indeed he felt empty. I'm glad we got to spend a few good years together as a family before he was gone.
Good write.
Though the bottles or cans were full, indeed he felt empty. I'm glad we got to spend a few good years together as a family before he was gone.
Good write.
6th Oct 2020 00:27am
6th Oct 2020 2:20am
6th Oct 2020 2:24am
16th Oct 2020 3:25am
