Alcoholic

Red bled the sun upon a dying day. I was red across the dial – in denial – Purple bags bemoaning alcoholics’ eyes – Blind, they still portray a depth of ruin You’ll never understand. I boozed away until another trial, Always doing wrong inside a wrong Inside a wrong – forgetting all the rights – Fretting, drinking, pinking up, stinking: Ah! the meths; I drank another round. Red eased into the night; black scoffed. I was black across the eyes – no surprise! Ethanolic fumes resumed their nightly play. I couldn’t pray, So crimson haemoglobin gave display Of flush as vessels opened wide. Red gushed – oesophageal varices Teased, eased the endothelium; Brought it all to split. Erythrocytic fire flared across A park of haggard flesh. I choked in red; died like a fish Ripped, stripped by a shark Artistically in dance through Gritty clouds of death-blood. Red spread the cold and solid ground. I was cold – a deathly mound Surrounded by an audience of shuffling feet. Replete, my corpse had played its role. No more the alcoholic porn; No more the savaged soul. Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010 life life life life life life life life life life life in strife life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life in strife life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life in strife life life life life life life life life life life life to take the knife