Alcohol - Drunk for the very last time

It's the deception. 
The hiding it in the boot of the car so no one knows you've got it...
including yourself!
The stopping off in lay-by on the way home.
The packets of strong mints to hide it on your breath.

Its the denial. 
The buying the mixers along with it.
The cola's and the fruit juices.
You're not drinking it straight right,
you're mixing it; that makes it OK right!

It's the daily grind,
serving your lord and master!
Finding places that will still serve you,
not staggering around the shop,
masking your breath from the shop staff,
the battle with the payment cards,
remembering PIN numbers when you're drunk,
and finding one with some slack on it!

It's the destruction. 
Not just of your liver,
but the destruction of your whole life!
Your health and your relationships.
Loved ones turning away from you,
giving up on you,
having to see you like that and taking it no more.

like a slow motion car crash,
a car crash that those who once loved you had to helplessly watch happen...
it takes you!

It's your death.
Your demise.
Your end because of it.
You've succumb to it,
you have drunk your last drink,
drunk for the very last time.

There's 'ONE' Poem within Me

There's one poem within me that just won't swing,
I always hear it when that "Irish Band" sing,
about 'Love' and 'One' and 'not being to blame',
'One' and 'Love that is not the same'.
And this poem within me that just won't swing,
when 'thingy' and 'wots-his-name' start to sing,
taps at my conscience,
plays with my mind,
but the words of this poem I just can't find.
And then the track ends and I briefly touch,
that poem within me that I want so much,
but the poem within me that will not ping,
the one that I hear when that "Dublin Band" sing,
drifts away as the last note plays,
what I had of it's gone, gone into the haze.
And there it will stay, not a poem for today,
that poem in my head that just won't play.
That poem I hear when that 'Live Aid' band sing,
that poem within me that just won't swing.
Maybe we're one; that poem and song,
maybe that's where I've been going wrong.
Maybe we're one; but we're not the same,
maybe the song really isn't to blame.
Maybe they're one but not the same
And so carry each other the poem and the song,
that tempo, the rhythm, carrying on.

There's a poem within me that just won't swing
I always hear it when "U2" sing.
"One" they're maybe both the same!
I can only think, "U2" are to blame!


The alcoholic 
falling head-long into the 
'soft drinks' - irony!

l Think I Love Mondays

I hate Mondays!
Why can't it be Friday evening again?
Why can't I have a whole weekend ahead of me?
The lye-ins,
breakfast in bed,
long sunny walks with the dog,
a good film and a glass of wine,
a large glass of wine!
Pop into the pub,
out shopping whilst hubby watches the footy!
Ooh; what about Sunday lunch out!
No-one to answer to,
No commitments,
No-one to please...

...all that washing up I've been putting off all week,
the uniforms which need ironing,
the food shopping,
cleaning the house,
Washing the dog after that walk - then clearing up the bathroom afterwards!
A trip to the dump,
that painting I still haven't finished,
and the lawn needs cutting, again!

I think I love Mondays! 


Stagger to pay day.
Spend it like it grows on trees.
Stagger to pay day.


Beer gets drunk; so much
so that the people drinking
it get drunk as well!