My soul.
Pickled in alcohol.

Is it surprising
people drink?
Desperate to silence
the noise of the madhouse.
This directionless cacophony called ‘life’.

Is there ever solace,
at the bottom of a bottle?
Lasting oblivion,
from the pain and confusion?

My obsessional mind,
relentlessly paces its cage,
clawing at my retina,
frantic for escape.

Midnight again.
Subdue the demons
with one more whisky…

Advertisements