Posted: May 3, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

Time Terror Spent


Sometimes you need to stop drinking

not just because of physical pain and discomfort

but because of ‘The Horrors!’

When you awaken to the guilty afternoon sun

terrified and waiting for them to burst in

through the doors and windows team-handed.

Even though you really know

that you haven’t spoke to

or seen anyone for over a week,

never mind done anything wrong.

You’ve just been home drinking by yourself

writing poetry and listening to music.

Yet, it’s there with an executioner’s

gloved finger pointing at you

each time that you slowly awake.

You belch and think it’s a coming heart attack.

You worry and over analyze whilst drinking

your first, second and third beers.

It’s not just a hair of the dog that bit you

It’s a build up of the thing

that’s going to later fuck with you some more.

It can take a week to feel right again, sometimes 

but you’ve got to jump off that merry-go-round

and rest more as you go along now.

For you are entering far darker territory

each time you pick up the bottle and travel.


© Paul Tristram 2013

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