To and from the bar in a drunken stupor, not knowing or caring if I live or die; My self-worth descends to the lowest level, while obsessing on the tears I've yet to cry.
Back home again I face an empty page, no words but my own name and a silly title; Exhaustion peaks at noon while coffee perks, but maybe just a touch of scotch to settle .
I feel as If I'm crawling deep within, an abyss of more self-pity and endless fears; My senses dulled by alcohol won't revive, until the soulless spirits disappear.
Looking out the window to the night, as the harvest moon glows gently in the sky; And pour my cup of coffee as I gaze, at this cosmic miracle shining before my eyes.
The darkness seems to halt then dissipate, bringing hope this stardust scene would last forever; Then facing scrawls of words which lay before me, I'm aware the time for change is now or never.
I saw the film "The Lost Weekend" with Ray Milland, an "oldie but goody" on Turner Classics, and I wrote this based on the character's personal struggles with the demons of alcoholism. Mr. Milland won an Academy Award for his performance which was, indeed, mesmerizing.