Drowning Sorrows

Midnight streets are dark and cold,
Though gothic looking not yet empty.
A familiar shape forms in the distance,
Walking lonely, heading towards me.

This figure, to me, is one well known,
A well known man I’ve seen before.
Stumbling and falling with every step,
It’s obvious he’s drunk again.

As I near him I see his cloths,
He wears the same worn dirty suit.
I look right at the mans pale face,
Beaten, bloody, and bruised.

As I near him I see,
The man is looking right at me.
I look straight into his sleepless eyes,
Nothing but red to cover his pain.

As we walk past shoulder to shoulder,
I feel disgust burn in my veins.
The man says nothing and walks ahead,
Too drunk to remember who I am.

Walking straight without looking back,
I think about the risen hate.
Not only the disgust from me,
Also the hate from the whole world.

How could this man have fallen so low,
To take the drinks and waste away?
What could have taken away his hope,
To happily live with his family?

Something that he held on to most,
It was love that shattered his head.
Blinded by the harsh betrayal,
Now forced to live in misery.

To know what he feels I’ve never known,
I’ve never had a drink myself.
But why would someone drink in sorrow?
It only makes the pain get worse.

One bottle for the memories,
Three more for the pain,
Five to make the world go numb,
Seven more to drown in sorrow.

So why does the man desire pain?
Drinking the night from day to day.
What could he feel when he takes that first sip,
All the way till the very last drop.

With so much pain come memories,
Living the past though it’s all bad.
Recalling memories over again,
Remembering love as it use to be.

So much hate for a man like this,
Who fell to deep in misery.
He has no evil in his blood,
Nor common sense to lift him up.

So clouded leaves the endless drugs,
All hope abandoned those who start.
Never in sorrow should a man drink
Or you just might end up gone like him.