Sitting alone at a bar at 2pm. Is this what the beginning stages of alcoholism look like? I mean, it’s not like my bloodline is some stranger to addiction. Especially of the booze variety. But, no. THis is just a drink. A midday, waiting for my bus drink. An I work hard and deserve a beer before I get home drink. An acknowledgement of my accomplishments and my desire to drown them out in a haze of chemicals. An acknowledgement of my desire to disappear from my mind from time to time. An acknowledgement of the fact that I tend to ignore my desires and spend most of my time sober. Days, weeks, months without drunkeness. Not without drinking but without drunkeness. And drinking without drunkenness is just a tease to see if I can withstand my own temptation. And occasional drunkenness is a reward for my strength. And when I allow myself the pleasure of drunkenness it lives as a reminder that what I possess isn’t strength, but fear. Fear that I feel all of my truest emotions under inebriation. Fear of the curse I believe my family possesses. Fear that I can only write when my mind is quite faded. Fears quite confirmed by my present state. Does this mean that to live without fear is to live in drunkenness? This I cannot abide.
Semi-Employed Poem, Semi-Employed 1 Minute
Published by Semi-Employed
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