I don’t mind burning my candle from both ends.
It’s worthwhile for me to keep clear of trends.
So, with each matchstick I gleefully ignite
The fragrant wax that’s center is full of dynamite.
I’ll ruin things, yet again, much the way I always do.
I’ll mix my drinks and prove once more the nonsense of no filter.
My mind will warp, it’ll twist and turn. I’ll be the best imbecile you’ll ever see.
I’ll clear the field and destroy the fun simply by being ‘drunken me’.
This is the reason I stay inside and relish in my reclusive ways.
I warn folks beforehand I don’t like to go out, I’m too familiar with alcoholic haze.
It’s pathetic that I draw a blank about what exactly I’ve said and done.
It’s rather sad to wake up knowing that I wrecked everyone’s fun.
It’s clear as day and dark as night though, that I’ve proved I want to be alone.
It’s funny how I can apologize and crack a joke that now gets condoned.
It’s my last ditch effort to suggest to those to not invite me anywhere;
To show no pity towards a drunk that lives his life with little care.
It’s rough, you know: accepting this sordid, self-destructive life.
It’s said God looks after drunks though. He lets them choose their liquid strife.
The jest towards us is we’ve seen so much and processed all our bad behavior.
No lessons learned as friends have turned and still it’s 80 proof we’ll savor.
Loch Loa (alcohol), the fluid demon that shows it’s face.
An anagram that’s made its name in stories written so I can keep pace.
There is no good that comes of this other than fueling my dark imagination.
So, bottoms up! To my invisible friends who don’t care if I succumb to ruination.