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.
A Sassoon inspired poem (the last two lines are almost completely stolen from "Suicide in the Trenches"), with a nod to W.B.Yeats with the Irish airman reference. Two of my favourite poets.
Written whilst feeling a bit guilty that I'm just a small, insignificant person with not much power to change anything, and being quite drunk. Never a good combination.
