naughtycheffa's blog: "addy"

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.