Here there be monsters

Flickering in dark burns a half spent waxen caricature of what once was, Shattering the gloom in its newest grotesque form,
I watch until its light burns the image to my cornea,
As I feel the fight flow from me,
Bruised and bloodied from my struggles,
Pain now surges in the voids left by my exsanguination,
Where warm blood once filled me with life,
Naked I lay,
On show for my sins,
A life lived in copious pleasures,
And I have been eager for my final escape,
Tired from being frightened of myself,
I drank to remember me,
And forget the unforgettable,
The foreign legion for the weak of heart,
And terminal cowards,
My demons haunt me still,
By night and by day,
After all these years and after all these tears,
Forbidden fruits out of reach and teased,
With no defence to protect me from their taunting’s,
Screaming through the vacuum of space and time, The dead dance around my anaemic corpse, Goading me to act,
To break a promise,
Drink me,
Drink me,
They scream to me from beyond this empty glass, And in to a twilight world beyond my grasp,
A realm of stale perfume and sickly cocktails, Where you wipe your feet upon leaving,
Bar flies stories in slurring spit and lost hope, Jangling change in lines of exact columns,
I watch in colourless visions from another realm, A different view point from the one I knew, To keep this world’s population at arms reach, For,
Here there be monsters.

I promised my wife 6 years ago that I would never drink again. Simple? It is a struggle, sometimes of the year are worst, my birthday, Christmas or those long hot summer afternoons in a pub garden.

I had got to a stage, where to restart my body in the morning I would have a dash of something from the whisky family in my coffee, I have a cup that holds a litre, so you can imagine the generous shot I would give it, about 11 am it was time for a mid morning kick start, One mid afternoon to help me sleep, one early evening to kick start the evening dinner service, and then when finished I would sail to oblivion on oceans of beer, red wine and heavy spirits.

It hits me when old friends, those who knew Alan the drinker, ask to meet up for a beer, and I just think, mmmmmmm, ok. You can not walk in to a supermarket without being accosted by six foot high stacks of cheap booze, specials on the ends of every isle. Yet they keep the cigarettes covered up so children dont start smoking, the logic in this escapes me.

Handmade pins in the bottom of the Purpleheart bowl. More at Bespoke Woods Facebook page.
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