Last Long Look Poem by Adam Bateman

Darkness swept upon the home,
embers from the fire flicker,
sitting in a chair alone,
wasted cigarette bottle of liquor.

Hand of nicotine stain smell,
lifting drink for final act,
mind of night swims and swells,
running in a hopeless track.

Where did all the time go,
did it slip behind the door,
why did it not stop or slow,
or returned from days before.

Remember what was never done,
from first light of the mind,
you really are a wasted son,
last great loser of your kind.