Piano treads secret doors,
unlike stubborn antique drawals,
once we open which was closed,
disrupts dust & cobwebs composed.
I don't need a harpoon sinking in
when my heart and liver's a rage
of alcohol and feel good haze
better than a chill with blankets,
Another day of no motivation.
Lost in a time I had sleeping in
and would never leave for 3 days,
the guilt of a burden of sins
not just my own but inflicted rage
My dreams were lesser than nightmares
so I got lost in all the adventures
like the hopping of a delightful hare.....

I’m a working man, I’m licensed
Working with all three of my vices
Ones got a grip, the other a squeeze
That last one gets me down to my knees

At 14 I learned to like the buzz
Trip out wildly, watch out for the fuzz
I never shot up, only smoked and blew my nose
Forget all the highs, felt all the lows

Now I know better, what can I say
All the things I let make me that way
Should’ve known back then it was a mistake
Remember that when you dance at my wake

i cried last night
because you weren’t mine.
i cried because you hurt me.
i cried because i wanted you
to do it all over again.

ten nights,
my glass held nothing
but water and light.

ten mornings,
i woke to myself
instead of forgetting.

tonight,
my heart spilled open
and the world drank me in.

you saw the empty glass
just before i left.
the way you came down on me
still rattles in my chest.

you were way too harsh.
your words lodged in me
for years.
because you were
a drinking buddy.
i didn’t need you
to hold a mirror up to me.

“i know by heart,” you said,
“that glass will be followed
by another.
isn’t that right?

so can you promise me
when you get home
you won’t drink?
because tomorrow,
i will know.
you know i will.
and i’ll never trust you again.
if you lie to me.”

i didn’t drink that night.
not because i didn’t want to.
but out of anger.
because you were right.

sometimes, years later,
your voice still follows me.
you’re part of the past,
and it still haunts me.

i could do
with a round of tough love.
another of your harsh truths.
because i keep fighting these battles,
and all i do is lose.

you ask,
how much i drink in a week.
i say, you don’t want to know —
and you hold me
as the truth splinters
through my ribs.

then you walk me
to your car,
drive me home.
make me tell you
about drinking in silence,
in secret, alone.

but you already know.
you needed me to say it.

you want me medicated.
you want me to get help.
speak to someone,
anyone.
you can’t witness anymore
as i’m losing myself.

i don’t want you to see me like this.
i don’t want anyone to.
a part of me still resists,
still says it isn’t true.

but i am an alcoholic.
only at twenty-four.
the worst part is,
i think i’ve known all along —
i just kept thinking
if i stayed quiet,
it might stay small.

clock toils its time—it's time for life,
life's most perilous grand journey.

the snake tightens its grip around his neck,
as he surfaces from bathtub's shallow water,
for it's not drowning that is his demise,
no—it's air's extinction.

the snake coils itself around his head, like a crown,
gifting him sleepless nights, full of waking man's nightmares:
the bottle's shards in the heart,
rejection's painful strikes deep in his mind.

his end begins with lack of every thing imaginable:
energy, strength, desire, happiness, hope, love.
like a ghost living amidst us, a mere shell of what is left of him.
day and night—a struggle—as his will leaves him bit by bit.

amidst the pendulum stands snake's poison—
so elusive and so dear.
it's incredible how much he chases the high,
finding solace in its terrible embrace.

his beginning ends with persecution.
endless stories told by hidden messages.
madness unfolded, spread and laid out like a path,
that he takes as soon as no-one's in touch.

and what is left of life's time?
gone, gone are the stars.

we got drunk on pálinka,
that tasted like cheap nail polish
as the day drifted into sleep,
watching mismatched friends
in their twenties
dancing in a garden,
barefoot, and dizzy,
writing silly poems
in each other's hoodies.

i kept thinking about that
horse we brought to life
the whole bus ride home.
wondering
if i really had been on the bus,
or taken a long walk.

i recognised our house,
but the way upstairs was tricky.
thinking it was mine,
i crashed into my housemate's door -
maybe not accidentally.
the more the blur fades,
the more it becomes clear,
i just thought he was cute.

so i folded myself into sleep
before the truth arrived
and made it all too real.

i tear myself open
like a letter
never meant to be read,
until my hands tremble
and each line
bleeds into the next.

i’m the sum of everything
i swore i’d never be —
the cut, the salt,
the silent weight
of an empty glass.

the shell i’m left with
isn’t worth taking up space.
i became my own enemy,
when i ran out of people to blame.

on the sun-soaked terrace,
with the stem
cold against my fingers,
I raise my glass to your laughter
and the wind tousling my hair.
we are gleaming golden,
fermenting a quiet kind
of sweetness.

your presence
slips past my guard,
softening the stains
of our past,
like sunlight
through old glass,
faintly blooming still.

you’re a risk to me,
to my sanity.
asking me to walk
barefoot through hell —
not to escape it,
but to understand.

i’ll happily drink to the fire,
to this dauntless
absurdity
building a shrine
in shades of dangerous red,
stirring the fallen ashes
our burnt-out flickers
once left.