“Untitled” 15

1 May 2020

I put down the bottle

I put down the beer

It was probably a crutch

It was most definitely a crutch

Without it, I cannot seem to enjoy

The things I used to

Is happy at the bottom of a can?

I hope it is not, for it is a bleak future

Maybe I will end up alone

I might prefer that, actually

Then if I drink myself to sleep every night

There will be no one to judge me

I may be doomed to a life of drunken adolescence

An adult in age, but a juvenile at heart

I try and rage against the things that I do not like

But the anger does not come, merely apathy

I hope to any and every god that this will pass