Aftertaste

The taste that remains behind my teeth forever stained with the smoke that I contained in my lungs won't go away, and while I'm holding back the draining understanding that sustaining this demanding existence is as fake as the moon landings (I'm just kidding) but I'm aware that there's a reason I'm so scared of underhand things that can wear away the armour that protects my soul from caring so I'm branding myself wary of the truth in spite of barely even handling all the absence, lack of traumas in my youth should justify why I deny the help and keep myself aloof, the drinking never changed but now I do it outside my own roof, if there's a face to blame I'll let them be, cause it's my right to choose my remedy in spite of finding recently that it's been booze, I hate to blame or shame or point the finger but I know it's you who sodomised my brain and led me to insanity so move of my way and let me lay in my recluse so I can search for feelings that I lost when I gave up on you.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

An unusual delivery in this one, devoid of periods until the very end. Something like a Faulkner sentence. Has the sound of one in middle age or approaching it looking back on mistakes with regret, especially one in particular. Hopefully some kind of rally can still occur. Poignant piece.

PS: last line needs an "out" after "move."