A *** and coke
On a Sunday evening.
The perfect prize
For a vacation I'm paying for.

My first drink runs through me
Like blood does
But I still remember the dates
Like tattoos in my eyelids.
Images and memories I could never unsee.

A therapy session with an empty chair beside me.
Begging for somebody.
The headache wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

They flow in the meanders of streets and bars,
Warnings by enslaved sugar cane harvesters from afar.
The produce as dangerous as lashes on disobedience,
From sloshed owners of plantations delirious. Tipsy greed.

Known to colonists for driving drinkers mad,
“Le rhum rend fou” they whisper in France, gulping
The brutal inebriating substance of wrong doings,
Turning blind eyes to ancient ports of human trade.

He was a descendent of those who stayed behind,
Only to later emigrate to the Metropole, unwanted
Reminders of ungrateful history. Parents working
Hard to fulfil disillusioned dreams of opportunities.

His amber bottle, his best friend, able to turn white
Sclera red, smiles into raging smears and slurs, be it
Not a swear word, using lexicon to hurt as pupils
Dilate, for looks to stab and offend, cursing blessings.

Easier to be a victim than take responsibility, blaming
All exception made for the precious liquid, bashing
Intentions with statements of futility, projects with
Sentences of failure, as the last drop burns a sore throat.

My head is red
My eyes have pain
I've been drinking *** from dusk till dawn
Will I wake up in the morning?
The sky exploded in a blinding light
Stopping what would have become a fight.
A man I'd known from a time back when
Shook his head when he downed number 10.
Away, away, away we go.
Where will we end up?
Nobody knows.
We'll cross the seas
And collect our fees
Singing all the way through
Drinking our *** and having our fun while singing a dancing tune.
We'll dance a jig
And take a swig
Surrounded by jewels and ***.
Away, away, away we go
Where will we end up?
Nobody knows.
But away, away, away we go
Drinking our *** and having our fun.
Where will we end up?
Not even we know.

Days have become dragging years;
The sun hath nearly drowned in a torrent of tears,
While the ghosts of yesterday's past remain,
Enslaving beauty within doubt ridden chains.
But upon the distant horizon strange fields do loom,
Giving way to golden days ahead if given room.
Time and Tide are said to wait for none,
Lest the Gods unite as one,
Casting mysterious waves upon the changing tide,
Leaving hearts upon the shifting shore be the ones to decide.

I've got that feeling once again,
After staying up til 3 A.M,
When insecurities start to creep,
And I curse myself for lack of sleep.

It seems I have no way of knowing,
Which way my thought process is going,
One day I'm happy, the next I'm glum,
And console myself with smoke and ***.

I try to find a compromise-
Get blasted drunk, and close my eyes,
But the world keeps spinning round and round,
Bottle's empty- no peace found.

Like the Irish airman in the sky,
I seem to watch as other lives flash by,
Then I pass out, hoping I'll never know,
The places those tormented souls must go.