naughtycheffa's blog: "addy"

I have drank for so many years to forget,

I have only overlooked what I am supposed to be forgetting,

And forgotten to disremember,

You still nag behind this hyperactive mind,

All the while my new friends have me serenely anesthetised,

This carefree world rushes by me,

As in suspended animation I survive,

Outside my cobwebbed window on to this life,

Seasons change and move inexplicably on,

Gazing through these translucent eyes as it passes me by,

I remain in the company of Mr Jim Beam and Sir Arthur Guinness,

Ernest and Julio pop round for a swift one here and there,

But in the familiarity of a lifelong friend,

Mr J Daniels,

I will always stay,

Comfortably numb.

The once white hot summer sun now mellows to autumn’s deep gold,

Trees shimmer in reds and browns as shadows lengthen in Septembers fading light,

The air moist as morning dew hangs heavy in to late mid morning,

Waiting to become winters morning frost,

Air freshens to the chill on October’s distant breath,

First seasons leaves hanging ready for falling in end of season anticipation,

And I stand and watch you turn,

As early fall’s sun glints from the waves of your hair like crests falling on white sands,

I stand motionless in the hyperactivity off the mute,

With only the will to pull you back,

As courage deserts my ability to react,

Each one of your footsteps pulls mono tone back across fading brown eyes,

With bloodshot shinning back through once again,

To wake upon a damp pillow beacons if I should wake tomorrow,

As I weep to convulsive contortions through the never ending dark of night,

Forgive me for ever loving you in my silence of protection,

Never letting you see these tears of my hidden humanity,

As I hid from this real life that threatened to take me over,

As I lived within this bubble of my own world,

Never letting on the effect of the world outside this sphere that contained my essence,

Safe within from these slings and arrows of reality,

Never to punctuate this misconception I lived,

My everlasting childhood shattered by this final farewell you uttered matter-of- factly,

A line tossed away in nonchalance of the well scripted and rehearsed,

A monologue practised over and over until word perfect,

Delivery and timing of the seasoned thespian in a matinee performance,

My dreams and life lay shattered at my feet,

Shards to shred this bleeding heart and lacerate what remains of this fraying mind,

To once more be glued together with narcotics and alcohol,

And sit in the screaming green velour chair,

With mock wooden legs,

Stained and dirtied,  

This emaciated corpse to found dead and alone,

To go out the way it came in,

No missed,

With no regrets,

But lived protected from myself by me,

And me alone.

The note is laid,

To whom it may concern,

No blame is taken or passed out,

The final goodbye from this broken soul,

No cryptic clue lost in its text,

No hesitation in self extinction,

No discussion to avoidance,

One iron act of will spelt out on scarlet flecked paper your first clue,

But all too late to help my in animation, cold and still,

It tells not of the razors bite on tender flesh,

Or how its furrow reminds me of autumn fields,

Or how it glides through sinew and fibre,

Like a knife through summers butter,

Claret jets with the grace of fountains through spring air,

But with my lifeblood unending in this lifetime,

Euphoria hits like cannabises first hit on a teenage mind,

Driven on and through by pressure beyond these protective walls,

Whose comfort I stepped beyond in cat like curiosity,

To a world too uncompromising to be mindful of me,

In childlike innocence I welcomed it with open arms,

But trampled by its aggression and impatience,

My dreams shattered at my feet,

Leaving me alone in this crowd unseen,

Afraid and lonely lost in the cold of a summer day,

So to become just another number,

One more statistic to lay forgotten in a file,

One more slab of named and dated stone,

Sunk into soil in a forgotten corner of this frightful land,

And I lay cold,

But warmer than the life that left me behind.

I sit dealing stud,

In this broken bar,

With a dusty floor,

Drinking whiskey from a dirty glass,

I chew on this spent fat Cuban,

Of whom a humbling taste it did impart,

Now nothing but wisps of mist on this stale and lifeless air,

I play my dead hand with a bluff as with my life before this demise,

I see my sins played across their blank stares,

But with a flicker of a smile played across my greying lips,

As war, famine, conquest and death twitch ye not,

Unfazed by my misdirection,

As one more Cohiba lights my world,

I play on as this house holds all the cards,

My hand of four ace of spades tells of my fate,

The ethereal nothingness beyond the swing doors in lifelessness,

Is known beyond these squeekless hinges,

And the breathless air,

As I sit killing time in the waiting room of my own weaknesses,

Indulgencies I wrap myself within,

I have lived in disregarded of others,

And seen my own gratifications satisfied,

Within this dream of being humble beyond my weakened grasp,

No band of angels or sweet chariot to carry me home on my horizon,

I have bathed in my all my contentment’s,

And wallowed beyond all my tolerances,

I have lived rich on the fat of my land,

But have always known my limitations and pushed beyond,

And now my pipes are calling me on back,

The ashen face bar man rings my final last order bell,

And this eternity awaits me,

I will send a postcard,

And wish you were here,

And not me,

No twelve honest men to hear my appeal,

I will linger forever in this pit of hells feasses,

And as the cold winds wail she lays flowers,

Upon the cold dead earth,

In her blackened hooded cape,

She cries over my remains,

Once every week,

Through shimmering glass from below I feel her warm tears fall,

And in final realization I see what I threw away,

And wish to be whole once more,

But weight in the balance and I was found wanting,

In torment I remain,

I can no longer move mountains,

I can no more run from me,

I see western winds blow clouds beyond my grasp,

And die as I lived,

Falling jus too short,

And as it clicks in to place,

I realise in my wasting time,

And I am done.

Emerging from the shelter of this urine sodden doorway,

He ventures beyond in to the raging precipitation of a cold wet December day,

Each shard of silvered raindrop cut him to the bone,

And leaves him bloodied and bruised,

Turning his blinking vision to filters of scarlet,

Passers by stopping to watch him stumbling past,

As his legs struggle to co-ordinate,

Both stepping together, then opposite,

This vile all-consuming poison floods those tortured veins,

And rages through that hazy mind,

Her face in flashes splayed across that broken mind,

Crawling through muddied puddles on hands and knees,

To the darkened house with no festive cheer on display,

The Christmas spirit in a brown paper bag,

No glass needed,

The destruction of vital organs silenced by the gurgling neck of shaped glass,

Emblazoned with the logo of the peddlers own branding,

Scotch, Russian, Polish or Mexican,

If it’s on offer its in fashion,

Or one with a chaser of the other,

Kills all known germs dead,

Rooms echo with every furniture-less step,

While a glowing box in the corner hums with childish cheer,

And this Ebenezer awaits his own Marley’s ghost,

Counting down to midnight,

Does he really have the stones to show his apparitional face?

It’s doubted in murmurs of a drunken mind,

As fuck you bounces off bland walls in magnolia and accidental red wine,

As last year’s gift wrap and received cards burn in a fireplace,

For just a little warmth,

And slumping into a eighteenth hand sofa,

He starts to drift to an alcoholic coma,

To wish the morning never to be seen by these eyes,

And friends will talk of how they last saw him,

In affection of reverence saved only for an acquaintance passing,

But not the sorrow saved for a friend,

Good will to all men,

Except he,

Old red eyes,

Bar fly,

Or bitter old soak,

And in his final testimonies,

He will burn for days with eighty per cent proof blood.

There I stood unaware and cold,

You stood French polish poised,

And under gaze of all,

With no shame from me,

They all witnessed my public shaming,

As with one deft swing of pen,

Ink is inlaid with hints of claret,

My beating heart ripped from within and pulsing red in involition,

For worth and value of monetary kinds

But upon sinew and cartilage I stumble on,

Heartless with no remorse for what lie’s behind,

Other extremities pickled as the dealer deals,

Once more a loosing hand,

My blood runs cold as conception hits my dulling mind,

Leaving this shell propelled on perpetual lines,

With your voice echoed through my bloodied mind,

Oblivions path weaves out before my step,

A hint of neon leads my way,

Excitement in every slab,

Hell as two cans remain,

This evisceration of my being continues with every second passed,

Tingeing my worlds view in grey,

As frost burgeons forth from my deadening glare,

Seeping in to worlds surrounding my own,

I walk on hollowed from past life’s lessons,

And here I come to rest from life’s living,

On dampened mossed stone,

Looking through highlights and lowlights,

In search of meaning to the next life,

And gasp my last alone.

What is love,

love is everything, nothing, pain, pleasure, torment and ecstasy,

Love is the tingle of excitement,

The terror of rejection,

Love is the sublime feelings of exquisite joy,

The questioning of trust and honesty,

Love is the warm glow of December log fires,

The tangible fear of loneliness,

Love is complete understanding,

The pain from a bitter broken heart,

Love is the anguish of separated moments,

The destruction of bridges built,

Love is the recollection of happier times past and those to come,

The shattered memories at your feet of life lost,

Love is the wonder of stolen moments,

The emptiness of singleness,

Love is the all consuming adoration of beauty,

The pang of regret to see another in your place,

Love is the pleasure in its most extreme,

The extreme pain of love and love lost,

We crave it like drugs,

We are all burned by its furious light,

Its intensity we love and are loved intensely,

Will it last,

Or burn out like an exploding star,

The like to be never seen again,

Just the stabbing memory of what once was,

And if in luck we may see the like again,

The pain returns once more,

And the search goes on,

Love is………love.

One glass,

Short,

Tall,

Lower the percentage,

End toll the same,

The carnage only evident the morning after,

Amber, clear, flat, carbonated,

The damage in time will tell,

Motor functions blurred,

Vision doubled,

Never been to bed with a minger,

But woken up with a few,

The evil of drink only effects the old,

We insane few,

Tequila vodka whiskey gin,

Same glass?

Of course, zombie?

By morning maybe,

Pull a bird, better under beer goggles,

Come morning one thousand Irish navvy’s jack hammers hammering,

Eyes narrow to the mearest of slits,

Filled with lead to heavy to hold,

Gently close, then roll open,

And close then snap back as a guilt takes hold,

gibbering gibberish,

drooling intoxicating drool,

falling off the stool as everyone looks on,

drunk again, of course!

Why? Because we can obviously,

Have money, will piss it up the wall in the gents,

Never to realise its deathly grip,

Until too late,

Sitting on a cloud, harp in hand,

Playing for the choir eternal,

Nor a drop in sight.

In this worlds scheme,

In the percentage of this world reduced to just numbers,

The mathematical equation of life,

It’s where we are measured,

Out of ten,

One hundred percent,

In between, just above average,

Just a twitch on the Richter scale,

A murmur from Mount St. Helens,

A burp from Krakatau,

Am I the one in ten?

Am I judged on what I have done?

Or who I am,

Am I know in my six degree of separation,

Or not at all,

Witnessed beyond these four walls to those I pass,

Or oblivion in civilian clothes,

A figment of my over active imagination,

Or over complicated bacteria in survival mode,

A necessary evil to the worlds end,

Or vital part to life's mechanism,

Is my non-existence to life a virtue?

Or is my contribution virtuous,

Are we any of us here at all?

Or just the musings of a divinity,

We rush in ever decreasing circles,

Until we disappear,

But are our lives a worthwhile endeavour,

Or just something to kill time,

While we wait for our false idols to call us home,

And we once more are returned to zero.

The note is laid,

To whom it may concern,

No blame is taken or passed out,

The final goodbye from this broken soul,

No cryptic clue lost in its text,

No hesitation in self extinction,

No discussion to avoidance,

One iron act of will spelt out on scarlet flecked paper you first clue,

But all to late to help my in animation, cold and still,

It tells not of the razors bite on tender flesh,

Or how its furrow reminds me of autumn fields,

Or how it glide through sinew and fibre,

Like a knife through summers butter,

Claret jets with the grace of fountains through spring air,

But with my lifeblood unending in this lifetime,

Euphoria hits like cannabises first hit on a teenage mind,

Driven on and through by pressure beyond these protective walls,

Whose comfort I stepped beyond in cat like curiosity,

To a world too uncompromising to be mindful of me,

In childlike innocence I welcomed it with open arms,

But trampled by its aggression and impatience,

My dreams shattered at my feet,

Leaving me alone in this crowd unseen,

Afraid and lonely lost in the cold of a summer day,

So to become just another number,

One more statistic to lay forgotten in a file,

One more slab of named and dated stone,

Sunk into soil in a forgotten corner of this frightful land,

And I lay cold,

But warmer than the life that left me behind.

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