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Aug 2015 · 760
Optic Illusion
Max Basford Aug 2015
It’s funny, you know you shouldn’t do it.
But then, when you lay there at the end of the day,
With your head spinning,
You know that you blew it.

Tin after tin assisting the spin,
Memories within kept under your skin,
Revolving and turning and wearing you thin,
Those long lost has-beens,
Inducing your sin.

You see, for me, I’m an ideas man, my brain constantly thinking,
Amplified and catalysed by the substance I’m drinking,
But it’s the thinking that’s linking my drinking to ink in,
These words,
While you sit there mistaking my wincing for winking,
...absurd.

Excuses excuses,
While abusing the juices,
Cause mere minor muses,
To produce abstruse bruises,
Your conduct confuses,
Peering, peers peruses,
Refusing acceptance induces,
Further misuses of boozes.

The taste is wasted,
On the embracing flavours,
As without haste you lay your,
Minimum pay wages down,
On the bar for more inebriation,
You try but you fail to
Waiver your behaviour,
But instead pave your way,
To your bottled slave labour.

It didn’t start out this way, it provided fun out of the blue,
To the problem I was blind as the issue grew and grew,
One turns to two,
Three increased to more,
Upon fixed shoulders heads askew,
Same face, different man, I assure.

Down the hatch they say, bottoms up, cheers!
As the liquor disappears it descends and it sears,
Wipe away the tears from the boozey souvenir,
And await that blissful place with no anxiety, no fears.

I understand why some find it bizarre,
How a soul can solely seek only for the jar,
My own experience has brought me in this far,
So now, this time,  it’s time for me to start...

...Raising the bar,
By erasing the bar!!

Now I’ve admitted I have a problem,
I’m committed to drawing a line at the bottom,
Of my past I can’t be acquitted but of my future I can blossom,
No truth dismissive in reality this autumn.

So that’s it for now, I’m wagon bound,
I’m on off this big adventure,
I’ve been a clown, to let it get me down,
Too long in this game I’ve been a contender,
Feet on the ground, I’ll no longer frown,
From the pleasure faked, with measure after measure,
Sorrows no longer drowned, I’ll be around,
And my life, from now, will get better.
Aug 2015 · 786
Amygdala Overdrive
Max Basford Aug 2015
How can you expect respect,
When a threat is met,
And your cortex is stretched,
With emotions het?
Do you stand ground and flex?
And accept whats next?
Or do you run and retch?
And on your thoughts reflect.

In retrospect...

When your mind's infected,
With those thoughts rejected,
And your feelings are pented,
You've left yourself neglected,
You feel unprotected,
You feel disconnected,
But that's to be expected,
When you've been dejected,

But, put it in perspective...
You'll see your next objective,
Is to become subjected,
To yourself...
Resurrected.

And, well, if you don't,
Here I'll stand,
Corrected.

— The End —