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.
robert43041
Written by robert43041 (Viking)
Published
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