I scotch myself to sleep at night
I drink it till the bottle’s done
It’s cheap and nasty, like my dreams
Taste is bitter on my tongue.
There’s little pleasure in a bottle of scotch
It isn’t there to help me have fun
And there’s not much joy in whisky sleep
But it’s better than getting none.
I fill my time in empty ways
In the dark, the reclusive one
Light of day brings memories back
Reminder that I made you run.
Can’t bear the image that daylight brings
A picture with you as the sun
Seeing you, just seeing you
Through the day I think of my gun.
I smoke myself to an ashen mess
I smoke till there are no more
The blue grey haze dances and swirls
Then filters out the door.
There’s no great promise in a tobacco pack
It isn’t there to slow my fall
And there’s not much hope in a cigarette life
But it’s better than no hope at all.
I tell myself, what’s done is done
I talk till I close my eyes
And when you appear, I talk to you
I still tell you those awful lies.
I speak the words that I just made up
Not truth – merest alibis
I’m saying things, just saying things
Through the night my failings reprise.
I Java myself, awake with the dawn
Black coffee to clear my head
It’s hot and dark, like my fevered mind
Strong – it could wake the dead.
There’s no jolly laughter in a Java jar
It can’t hear the jokes I tell
And there’s no new chuckles in a freshly brewed
But at least I ain’t crying as well.
© Frank Prem, 1998