written August 2011

He sat there thumbing through the photographs                                                                                   

it was bottoms up when he saw her                                                                                                        

they were just kids sharing in a laugh                                                                                                  

ten years gone it all was such a blur.          


Now he was broken from his glory days                                                                                                            

the whiskey wasn’t working anymore                                                                                                        

there was no way he’d ever change his ways                                                                                        

he drove back over to the liquor store           

The bottle grabbed on to his mind and soul                                                                                       

he hadn’t been at peace in many years                                                                                                 

he cried often for his naïve role                                                                                                                       

jumped back off the wagon and said ‘cheers’. 

The tears welled up, he took another sip                                                                                             

promised himself he’d never fight again

when Satan came in swinging from the hip                                                                                                             

he bowed his tired head and said ‘amen’.                                                                                                     

At that point he had nothing left to lose                                                                                          

he fought on though as if it were his last                                                                                                          

but couldn’t twelve-step away from the pain 

just praying that this moment would soon pass.                                                                                   

He awoke in vomit, sweat and blood

an empty bottle and a runny nose                                                                                           

the devil was still hanging on to life                                                                                        

it was then he knew just where he had to go.                                                                                                   

He’d have to fight the devil down in hell                                                                         

he’d done all that he could with life’s restraints                                                                     

it would be like when an archangel fell.                                                       

Though would it? He knew more sinners than saints

He wrote his mom a note to say goodbye                                                                     

saying one last time ‘I love you so’                                                                                 

but he was tired of line after line                                                                                             

pissing away his future, blow by blow.                                                                                        

He went upstairs, opened his dresser drawer                                                                          

where he kept the accolades he earned in vain                                                                        

he knew it was all bullshit they fought for                                                                              

now he was ready to go end the pain.

He picked the Jameson up off the table                                                                                

poured himself a glass for old times’ sake

he knew full well he was willing and able                                                                              

but still his sweaty hands began to shake.

He gripped that weapon like he’d learned to do                                                                                           

after eighteen years of faith and god                                                                                                              

after he swore an oath and sold his soul                                                                                                   

but he remembered now god was a fraud.    

Heaven and hell are parables, not real                                                                                                        

but he was ready for the nothingness                                                                                                       

he was sick of all the pain, concealed                                                                                               

so he marched off to a lasting rest.

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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