We were destined to fail.
From the start we were done.
We were Russian Roulette
With six shells in the gun.
That's one shot for me
And for you there's one more,
And should we survive
There's a spare extra four.

Whisky, I neglected you
For mushrooms and amphetamines.
For ket and **** and LSD,
And Mandy too, to name a few.

Needn’t I have looked so far
To be the greatest of cliches.
The drugs and raves led me astray.
For writers, scotch is more on par.

Half your bottle drank away,
Half full in my state of mind.
Every sip; sublime and kind,
Every **** a harshened spray.

Now I’m stuck, a drunken haze
Has washed and swept the ways of rhyme.
In its tide is also time,
As by the sun, the night decays.

Whisky, polished, final sip.
Like the bottle, I am dry.
So, I tried, to write not high.
This poem *****. I’m off to trip.

I can see Cecily's ****** bars.
Sammy can see them as well.
After he speaks
I keep catching him peek.
She knows that he sees, I can tell.

Bailey has smoked too much **** again.
He's dribbling over my shoes.
He acted all jokey
And tried out smoke me.
It went without saying he'd lose.

Tom's on the floor by the table.
We don't know if he's alive,
Hugging Joe's feet,
Who is slumped on the seat.
I don't think they're due to survive.

Chris had a couple of pills.
Ethan a tab or a few.
Toria's tweaking,
Max is just peaking,
Matt's throwing up in the loo.

I'm on the sofa while writing,
Louie beside me in tears.
We may have our issues
With drugs and their misuse,
But **** it, it gives me ideas.

The sun never shines, the moon never sleeps,
Beneath the sky's blanket the earth is still.
Irises blossom and irises weep
And narcissi thrive in the uncertain chill.
Radiant colours have painted the fields,
Green of the gammas and epsilon black.
Change is a force only nature can wield,
Grief is a certainty nature brings back.
The sun never shines, the sky's never rich.
Cursed with a greyness of which it won't shed.
Monchromatic and bleak and eldritch,
Stitched to horizons with lavender thread.
Spring, in my youth, was a beautiful sight,
Desolate land would be painted anew.
Now that I've aged I can see through its sleight,
Engulfed by despair as the grass is by dew.