Depression, effects of money, honesty, poem, Poetry

The Truth About Drinking

I’d be lying if I told you I’m not a drunkard anymore.
In reality, I’m such a liqouor obssessed man whore.
I know that I should resist this destructive vice.
But it is the only thing that makes me relax and revise.

Revise my thoughts and think about deeper things.
Though at the end of the day I’m still stuck in this stupor.
I can’t help but think I have a problem with this kind of thinking.
But who the hell cares? I’m just a nobody drinking.
Drowning myself in the arms of an alcoholic rapport.

I thought I’m out of this circle, I thought I’m out of this loop.
But reality tells me I just ran out of a group.
A group of money where I can drink to my heart’s content.
I’m not talking about the people, just a poor effort and attempt.

Attempt to try and conceal what I really am.
And who I am is an alcoholic fan.
A fan for the beverages that numbs my senses.
An addict to the substance that fogs my lenses.


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