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Mar 2019
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.
Written by
Frances E McClelland  Hamilton, NJ
(Hamilton, NJ)   
95
   sue and Elizabeth J
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