Means of escape

 

So many sorrows drowned

in those public houses.

Laments cried unto drained pint glasses.

Memories died as the hours passeth,

then regurgitated into ceramic caskets.

Thoughts plastered; moments staggered

so many sorrows drowned

in those public houses.

Those nights on the town.

The hours passeth

my heart left in a wicker basket.

 

Too many hours passed

in those public houses.

Dreary mood lighting

confuses the hours.

Emptiness oozes

from the boozers walls,

as the sounds of the jukebox

merge into background drawl.

I stagger and crawl,

I stumble. I fall. Words retched up

and spewed over those that listen,

anyone at all. But no one does.

Not really, they are all just drowning

in the very same insanity pool.

 

So many hours spent.

Beer glass handprint,

My fingers bent around a pint,

now they are stuck that way for all time.

My memory imprint. Fragmented.

My liver stagnated. Heart left deflated,

a world of self-hatred.

So many sorrows drowned,

too many for one man to count,

in those public houses.

The nights on the town,

the hours that passeth.

I left my heart in a wicker basket.

 

 

Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff

My newly released book, 'Paper Brick'

is now available along with 

all of my other books, 

at Amazon

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Paper-brick-Kyle-Coare/dp/B0F9LCD487/

 

Please buy a copy if you can

it would really help me
continue to do this.

Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle