the undoing

a poem about temporary bravery

empty wine bottles tucked neatly in the corner of

my quarters, organized without shame.

almost arranged as decorations

for the torment residing within.

each one served a purpose.

each bottle named with a particular woe.

after some time it comes as second nature.

habitual ritual of drowning my sorrows,

boredom and unexplained brain pain.

the bane of my worries are currently riding

each red and purple wave

securely swirling in my wine glass, in my right hand

while my left rests on my chest, counting the beats as if reassuring life

because i'm convinced everything that i am

is caught in this whirlpool which

sinks closer to the bottom,

the very pit of this bottle.

every sip that penetrated my lips was supposed to be my last.

i've become an enemy to myself.

but i can't seem to place the blame so i name this one rage

and conclusively house it beside my troubles of previous episodes.

the honesty of all my unrest is caged inside the depth of these

 bottles i've collected and i'm not sure if the world is ready for the

exposure of my torture.

i've been trained to keep the pain in foreclosure

until it takes me to the grave.

before then, it has the free will to eat me alive.

i remedy the sting with a toxic sip because

the burn on my tongue is forgotten when

the flood of my tears makes it ways through my pores

when the throes tighten its grip.

watching

listening

pouring

my words out on each page, uncontrollably

weeping through the ink of my pen.

combating dehydration with gulps of chilled cognac and wine.

again and again

i offend the retreat of the sun

to praise the moon for granting me the shelter

to unravel in private. inhaling the scent of

fear without fear. expressing facts to the leaves

of paper that were never heard by ear.

but under the influence of alcohol, i can do it all.

i can do it all until the cousin of death intercepts my

temporary bravery as if it didn't exist.

Reviews

[Albena]

I do like your writing style.