20 Years Too Late Poem by A . T . Perkins

I swill the man made liquid
Down my throat.
What are you thinking?
How dare you gloat!

Another day squandered
- of no use.
Like me
In my self abuse.

I want to be numb,
So I succumb,
To my yearning of intoxicated bliss.
Who will it be today? It's a hit or miss

The butcher, the baker,
the indian chief; or
Maybe the clown, the bully,
or the one full of grief.

Run - get away,
Save yourself from me.
I hate it here,
So why do you be?

I'm starting to hurt,
It's killing me
My pores stench of ferment;
The black poison - I leak.

Oh man! I want to start over,
I promise I'll stop!
But, it all depends
On how long the Doc says I got.

But I'm awake now and now I see;
My life has been a blur,
with hardly,
any memory's

Twenty years
Too late.
It is,
For me.