A very old piece from around two years ago..

the trees irritate me with thier drunken swaying
even as I stagger alongside loneliness
to the shack i call home.

my alcoholic breath seeps through cracked lips
as I march, with a slight list, toward my door
and fumble with the keys to my life.

another swig from the bottle that I grasp tightly
in my right hand and I swallow a mouthful of myself
to keep my emotions supressed.

hard bed. but my bed neverless. I lie dead, breathing
silently through my matted beard
and drift into a troubled yet somewhat restful sleep,

all the while knowing that drink was my last
and only one thing awaits me beyond the tunnel.
as I step into the light I see him. Death, as horrific
as the previous meetings. He bellows in his quietist
voice, 'it is that time again Son.'