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by Tony Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Other · #1079929
Sobering up too late!
         20 Years too late

I swill the man made liquid,
Down my throat
What are you thinking?
How dare you gloat!

Another day squandered
          of no use,
Like me
In my self abuse.

I want to be numb,
So I succumb,
To my yearning of  Intoxicated bliss.
Who Will it be today?  It's a hit or miss.

The butcher; the baker;   the Indian Chief,
Maybe the clown; the bully; or the one full of grief.

Run    get away,
Save yourself from me.
I hate it here,
So why do you be?

I'm starting to hurt,
It's killing me.
My pores    Stench of ferment,
The black poison   I leak.

Oh man!    I want to start over,
I promise!    I'll stop!
But it all depends
On how long the Doc say's I got.

But I'm awake now,  and now I see,
My life has been   a blur,
with hardly,
Any memory's.

Twenty years
Too late,
   It is,
         For me
© Copyright 2006 Tony (anthonytodd at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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