Nice to meet you;
My name is ‘Al’,
You ask me
‘What’s your aim?’.

I am your very best friend,
just listen,
I’ll explain.

I can make you feel good,
take away your doubt,
your fear,
your pain.

You can be free,
One of us,
the In Crowd

The ones who know
what there is to gain.

Red Wine is good for you – Isn’t it?
Along with all its mates;
On all of which
you can depend
To see you through
by measure and increasing measure
until the end.

The Beer,
the Spirits,
the Sparkling Wine,
their taste,
the feeling,
that you have come to treasure.

Everything that disguises ME
in your mistaken pursuit,
your search for pleasure.

There are those who say
that I’m the Devil,
If that is so
I am owed my due.
But in the end it is all as ever –
up to you.

The time has come to pay your bill –
the cashier is waiting at the Till.
For here below I state my claim –
pay up pay up or leave the game.

Because :
I will destroy your health,
screw up all your hopes and dreams,
destroy everything
that you hold dear.
Take your life and twist it
until you are alone and desperate
with no one near.

If you stick with me,
I can take your pain away,
I can even make it go away forever.

I have been around for a long, long time
and I know how to ‘Hook’,
‘Entice’
and make it seem like pleasure,
as you slide so slowly in to the never never.

Slipped Again

In the past, I have tried to rationalise my thoughts by using Verse as a vehicle for recording my feelings; Writing in Prose did not convey my emotions. Hopefully having written this, it will stick with me this time.

On the 4th of March this year, I renewed my commitment to have another sober year, I had managed almost eleven months of 2018 – unfortunately, there is many a slip between intent and action.

I started out in good form, with only AF beer in my cooler, went to the store for more and the cupboard was bare – Oh! Well, some low alcohol won’t hurt; The thin edge of the wedge was firmly set.

I moved on to a nice ‘Apera’. Then a ‘Muscat’, Then my demise – always has been – ‘Scotch’ – Each of them lasting a day – except the Scotch which in remorse I made myself leave some of in the bottle; Once upon a dark dark time it was a bottle a day habit. I remember a young trainee doctor on one of my Hospital sojourns asking me if I ‘Knew’ how many drinks were contained in a bottle.

Now there are about eleven standard drinks in the ‘Apera’ and ‘Muscat’, but there are twenty-two in the Scotch; Can you see the Slide?

Deeper and deeper into Allen Carr’s Pitcher plant  – what happened to my commitment?

By the way, if you haven’t read ‘The Easy Way to Control Alcohol’ by Allen Carr – I can recommend it even if I am not the best advertisement. Sobriety is Never Owned, it’s Rented

The day before the scotch, I was feeling a bit ‘Bleh’ to put it mildly; Then after, with dawn breaking in harmony with my head – ‘The cows came home’ along with the ‘Chickens to roost’, and all the old familiar symptoms of Mierda.

Couldn’t stand the smell of food, starting to hurt, then, of course – Rejective Action – brought up the poison – foul-smelling brown acid. Enough said! What was left of the Scotch went down the Dunny! A brilliant way to spend your cash. This is not the first time I have done this; Wouldn’t you think any sane person of my age – somewhere over 21 – Long way over! Would recall their times spent in hospital – yellow eyes skin and pain, dehydrated in the extreme Et cetera.

Time to change life’s gears

Awake from dreams I view my fears
Whose presence keeps within me tight;
A view of Countless wasted years.

Their call is strong the visions sear,
Poison seeping thru the night;
The feel of salty unshed tears.

I sense my pain in head and hear
Within my soul a sense of sleight;
That view of countless wasted years.

How much I’ve tried to keep things clear
But something deep within me likes;
That feel of salty unshed tears.

To thus wise live with loss so near
Bereft of comfort and in my sight;
That view of countless wasted years.

The time has come to change life’s gears
To damn the shadowed restless night;
That view of countless wasted years
That feel of salty unshed tears.

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More From this Author :

Sobriety is Never Owned, it’s Rented – Escaping the Pitcher Plant

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