Climbing out of my whiskey glass,
I stumble to my bed.
It was so tempting to stay there,
curled up like a tightfitting pickle.
I felt myself drowning
and that's why I forced myself
up the side like a mountain climber
but more out of shape.
I'll be back there tomorrow
after I pass out for a few hours.
I can't seem to help it
and my friends and even my girl
are getting sick of it.
But I've got my keyboard and my pen
to help me through
and that's about all.
A contest entry
- Rewrite this poem with very descriptive words by Dangerousparable.
380 points, ended September 5, 2008, 6 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
So, what's your opinion of this?
Comments
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Tragic
The battle with the bottle. How it not only destroys the drinkers life but those loved ones dear to him/her. Excellent short but honest view poet. I have been there.
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Good work
not quite cold enough
but good work
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