These travesty-driven little tell-tale vignettes appear to have a place in a ramshackle-d and a seriously shamed history

Against the grain – an alcoholic
Man who creates an endless pool of liquified magnificence within the repulsively regrettable reckonings of his very own endlessly over-wrought and drowning brain

Been needlessly crawling midst the flurried depths of his destructive debts – arises to only ever pay one way or another faltered by it all

One step forward and ten steps back
Off-track

Addiction stares non-stop dereliction in the eye and manhandles all of our beatnik-d inadequacies as though t’were through their very own chord of luckless hope

The tuck-on-in simply serene when setting oneself up to stroll heavily, rather thankless and pensively against the gluttonous and hangry grain

Soon as he softly, uncontrollably, uncomfortably curls himself
into
The never-ending foetal positioning again – a ghastly ball wild-fired by instinctual design and cradling a meandered hope which snakes and screams for preposterous reasoning

This breathless, child-like, ‘has-been’ wannabe – wind-swept, -wept by it all, has he really amassed?
By himself these brave choices, braced and inferiority complex-ed and tear-driven inadequacies for all to finally witness and sadly let
Themselves free to see

A Cloud storm of formed and formulaic frustration bring with it utter living, seething envy when bolstered right by the other person’s bare-boned, -knuckled, -naked brilliance

A better belonging, indeed
We fight for our beneficial feed

Appears to be –
That no
Man is an island…
But for recklessly inept he

Hides from everything and everybody… trembles entrenched in a corner till all squared-off, imprisoned by lonely procedure

To continue on with the malnourished mishap of a painfully, disdainfully ventured century

This is his lifetime – roughly, raggedly brought together by
Knife-edged sacrilege and his last left daughter feels it

Soon as his lingering lips twist to tip yet another glossily encumbered circumference
Of yet another wailing bottle of faraway dreams

None too neat… yet
All
Of
It
Neat

He draws his only known breath when he is decidedly drunk

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