Saturday, 20 October 2012

Too Much Drinking

Oh fuck off, why don't you!
I'm having too much fun
soaking my brain in booze;
stupid  indulgent thoughts
I'm not ready to lose.

Oh fuck off, why don't you!
You tell me how futile
this habit becomes, taking
me down by degrees, more
dis-ease in the making.

Oh fuck off, why don't you!
It's inherited traits
you loathe and oppose,
the stone bred in the bone,
vicious hard thoughts exposed.

Oh, fuck off, why don't you!
The worse thing is I know.
My father often said,
problems wake up with you
and too soon Son, you're dead.


  1. I enjoyed the flow of this. Thanking for playing along by reworking it into a new form.

  2. How quickly we fall in love with poetry, to say with elegance what ordinary words can't quite communicate. But here, with simple, direct, down-to-the-bone words, this poem talks about the finite. In layers. It hits me right between the eyes!

    A grammarian's note: your is the possessive. You're is the contraction of 'you are'. Still absolutely lovely.

    1. Yes, thanks for pointing that out. And thank you for your comment.