I’m drunk with precisely
Seven shots of tequila, and
One vodka with Coca Cola,
And I’m sorry for I had no
Sorrow to drown in, or maybe
I’m just worrying you with
An apology because I want
A sorrow, and a broken heart;
I want a torn out page of
My favourite notebook
Screaming out vulgar thoughts
Which involve a lot of drowning
And a bit more choking on
His part, and I want to break
My mother’s favourite flower
Pots and I want to own a
Bar, to be able to sit down
And give my lover a treat on
The house, and pretend I have
Been fine, and pretend that
There’s no pretence. I want
To have a story to tell, and
I may even have one, but as
I sit by the masquerade of
The lonely bridge which nearly
Deprives the river of its beauty
I cannot help but think that
None of it, none of my story
Will matter to you, or to him,
Because to a stranger I am
A nobody, and it isn’t really
Hard to see that I am a
Stranger to almost everybody.
It isn’t supposed to hurt, because
I chose this and I would again if
I were given the choice, but
At times when I have no one
To share my favourite wine with
I worry that I will die alone, and
It will, most likely, make me happy.

25 thoughts on “Drunkenness

  1. Seven?!…. 🙂 A stranger does hurt, but not just a choice…I think it just is. Reading this was like hitting a gong that will still sound a month from now. In other words… Hi, stranger. Nice to meet you, my name is stranger.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is lovely poetry. My best friend in the world could not write (and he lived to write) unless he was stoned. Oh, he wrote so beautifully! He died in April of 2014 of alcoholism and drug abuse. A brilliant mind lost.

    Liked by 1 person

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