Brush my eyelids closed.
Place your coins
to pay the ferryman
and let me sail away,
down the river of memories.
Past the old days,
when drink was a way of life,
a state of mind that seemed like
the only answer
to a question I'd never asked.
"How can I escape this dead-end path?"
Into the arms of my enemy I sank.
The poison I drank.
I fell more than stood, but I felt so good,
or so I thought.
The memories distort,
you forget about the hours of retching,
the spinning vision, the room stretching.
The lost hours, days,
the headaches
when exposed to the suns blinding rays.
"But I only do it to help me sleep"
Would seep from my lips,
nut it's more that sleep
was creeping out on me.
Furry mouth and bruises.
Contusions, confusion.
Stumbled feet try to replay the last steps,
but nothing sticks, it all slips through the cracks.
Every memory, date, name erased.
Mind a hazy maze of mistakes and forgotten pathways.
Scribbled over in biro ink,
significant moments that I can't link.
Memory like a sieve,
with all the important things flowing through,
just the odd useless fact left to baffle you.
I flooded.
Drowning in my own blood.
Something wrong,
these "good times"
were never good,
and now I'm falling,
fallen.
Stretched out like a canvas ready to paint,
red stains on yellow skin.
Needles piercing, doctors racing,
machines beeping,
coppery taste in my mouth
and I'm out.
Don't feel sorrow,
feel joy,
for a life less hollow.
A life that chose to walk
a different path
to the one
he was destined to follow.
I awoke, renewed.
I started to see with clearer view.
I started to do what I love to do.
Write the words I write to you.
Thanks for reading
Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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