The Song of the Drinker (reworked)

Messy mind, it tortures him, thoughts stretched to ruin on the rack,
Hopes, contentment crucified, the future hides in black.
Just live for now, or perish here, the drink decides your fate;
Mortal man, undignified,  filled with spite and rage and hate.

Back over shoulder, mesmerised, the lies of years ago,
Downfall brought to memory, reliving blow by blow.
Trapped mind will wilt in feedback loop, the shattered mirror falls,
In pieces for another night, ‘To Oblivion!’ he calls.

And grasping now the bottle neck, to incapacity he’ll sink,
Swill it back, erase the pain, become one with the drink.
And so to wake another day, regretful and ashamed,
On shadow men, and broken heart, is all his folly blamed.

Another evening, another day

Its the slow intake of breath and it's regretful expulsion through the nose that gives it away. The semblance of calm breath when inside there is utter turmoil. Right now I am not sure how many days I have been passing it all off as tickety boo, but it feels like it has been forever. The only option is to write about it, hope that the process of delivering words to paper (or rather their HTMLisation) will help force me out of this funk. I want to run from now. Now is bad, now is the wrong place and the wrong time. I want to flee to beauty, I want to see beauty, feel it, hold it in my arms. Things here are not beautiful. The world is grey and I find myself reading poems I have written of muses or otherwise and I cannot bring those feelings to being, they seem alien, as if I have never experienced love, gentleness or wonder. I know that I have, I was after all there, but it is as if a screen is between me and the memory, the sensations of the memories. I've loved, I know I have. And what's more, I meant it, but now there is no love, there is helplessness. There is need and there is regret that I am so. And guilt....guilt at being a net drag rather than a net gain. And where did this timidity come from? I am afraid to ask for help, for love, for affection, wary that I am an anchor threatening to halt your progress through the tempestuous seas we sail. So I write it all down, in the hope it will make sense, but, in truth, it never does. I have never fitted in with any world view I can conceive. I have always been an enigma to myself. Capable of emotions that literally rip me apart at their intensity, and yet incapable of placing them correctly in my timeline that the results make sense. Too early,too late, I have been both in my time and I have been both at the same time. I'm tired. I've seen a lot, and experienced a lot, I have done things that no one knows about but me and some of them shame me. I've lived in squalor and splendour emotionally, but I am no closer to resolution or becoming complete. Perhaps for me there are no answers, merely questions and my life will be all quest and no rest. Thanks for listening.