I've fallen off the wagon.
She pushed me,
the b*tch.
I was doing well, for sure,
with this gracious, smiling host,
I could even see the coast,
Lights bedecked the pier head.
She threw me,
the b*tch.
Soft beckoning, bewitched.
She threw me miles off course,
and me, with no resource.
Light recedes behind me.
She blinds me,
the b*tch.
A constant treading water,
ice penetrates my frame,
there's none but her to blame.
A firey trail inside me.
She soothes me,
the b*tch.
My troubles float like cobwebs,
borne on a rising tide
of both of us, allied.
The bile rides up within me,
She troubles me,
the b*tch.
I wretch as I am waking,
the tremor makes me falter,
the waves around me alter.
Gasping and depleted,
she strangles me,
the b*tch.
I strike out. Desperation.
I flounder in self pity,
attempt to reach calm city.
Sand becomes my saviour,
she leaves me,
the b*tch.
The gin bottle lies empty.
My reasoning now grim.
Those who drink to drown their sorrows
find that sorrows learn to swim to swim
originality is rare on this site thanks for the great poem, i've spent some time with that b*tch she's mean and nasty and speaks badly toward you but sometimes we can't resist her you might like my poem 'this poet'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The final lines are unbearbly poignant. As those who have fought this battle know all too well.