hallucinating, under the spell of 211,
trying to ignore them hopeing for heaven..
Slight fears within, afraid of loud cheers..
Trying to hold down these malt liquor beers..
Shakeing and trembling, too subtle for belief
Vague sounds here and there, not feeling the relief..
1 o’clock nearing by, happy as i can,
Trying to get down that 211 can.
Sitting on my perch, while everything hurts,
Sip by sip, I attempt to drown my sorrows,
hateing for today, and dreding my tomorrows.
Hearing my name called, by the willie willie birds, muttering to john, since i cant form words,
Depending on subtle sanity, returning to contempt
State, wishing for a dollar with noone in site.
so dreaming is a gift, but i deny so,
if only i could make, these dam birds go..
Calm is comming soon, sitting behind the store,
as my whole body’s weak and my legs are sore.
Upchucking violently, heartburn is a burn
it’ll be a long night, as john takes his turn,
Sip by sip, we live by the sword, as john Barleycorn
Keeping us worn. Nights getting dark, the visions are
Easeing, but its not over, as me and john know the reason..
Dont talk dont move, sit there in silence, only gulp after gulp
Its a hard reliance.. Praying to rid my body of the toxics,
John says hes fine, taking a look at his pockets..
Eager to subdue all of the nerves, another whisper from the willie willie birds.. Alcohol is poison, from which we pray,
Pain easeing slowly, as we pass through the day..
Night is promising, people seems more pleased, we ask for money and tell that we need, too much liquor, such a patrons delight, if they knew how we felt, they wouldnt put up a fight,
Tequila’s too much, and we dont care, to tell u the truth, we’ll subtly dare.. Relaxed is good, as the voices arent mad, if i could give up, the insanity would be bad.. Sipping to gain control, thinking its so cool, as Johnny barlycorn has us like fools.. Walking to the woods, to find a lying spot, trying to duck from the big city cops. As my life is dredged, I have memories of my comfy bed, I look over to john, as hes praying to be dead
I broke out a cry, hurting so bad inside, the intense pain isnt on my side..laying there broke and all day long, asking strangers for money so we can just get along..
Quarter and dime, small beer and wine, crying to pain that’s ruining my mind.. Humbly recoiled, with thoughts of despair if i had it my way, i wouldnt dare..

Thistooshallpass

whateverhappensitsonly12stepsout

tothyselfbetrue

Chef Rob..
6yrs 11mths sober

1 thought on “

  1. Ya’ll this is required reading, well written along with good poetry talent and neat little fictional story.

    Like

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