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…