And he talks

I sit,
Bottle by my side,
And I drift,
Through pasts,
And remember my anarchy,
Things done unto other,
I would not will onto myself,
Things I dare not utter ‘til the setting of the sun, Stars arrival bring steel to my constitution,
And here, alone and cold,
My just deserts?
Maybe not,
But his face does call from the bottom of every glass, And every bottle,
And he talks,
I listen,
He tells me as it is,
His one sided narrative on me,
My good, my bad, my hellish nature,
As Mr Hyde is bought on by one sip of amber lifeblood, I cringe at his accusations,
I act on his every command,
With no will of mine left to give in my defence, Can you hear him?
I scream above the lifeless chatter,
But no one hears,
But as the Beatles say, Half of what I say is meaningless,
I call for help, echoed around these empty walls, Sitting, rocking, fetal in the corner of a darkened room, Will I soon succumb forever?
To swim within him,
To be him,
Am I already, just the good breaking out?
But which of us is Dr Jeckle,
Is it me who leads him astray?
Are we just a combination never to be mixed?
And whom is imagining who, Am I just a figment of his imagination, Innocents only dreamed of,
Have I only pain to offer,
Is our negative the positive?
And visa versa,
Is my world just the one of dreams and dust?
His the real deal, horrid and with out feeling and emotion, Am I Hyde dreaming to be Jeckle?
Mortality spent on the last dance with Mr Bourbon,
A wooden box sponsored by Mr Benson and Mr Hedges, Stained in nicotine yellow, With bloodshot veins,
Made from a special Jamaican herbal wood,
A corpse preserved by my lifestyle,
No E numbers needed,
Hammer ready,
Nails hit,
And I’m gone,
But no one sees,
Or knows,
No care, or tears,
As Bob Marley resounds to emptiness,
The crash of dirt on wood,
And the world breathes a sigh of relief,
That I’m gone.

In this I try to portray an essence of what life is like when lived looking through rose tinted beer goggles. You wonder how long you can keep smoking, bringing up 3 C’s of the fruit machine of life. Every day felt as though it were happening to someone else, as though viewing it on a wrinkle screen.

I may miss each and everyone of my favourite tipples, G&T, Red Wine, Beer, Whisky or tequila. I dont, however, miss the feeling of being not quite present in life, it was like viewing life through the glass of a box filled with water as you try desperately to escape.

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