Writer survival

Sitting drunk
Trying to write
Cigarette in the left hand
Whisky dripped all around
Trying to write
The beer flows
And i’m broke
The women
Seem to run from me
As they get closer to me
The drunken street-walkers
Seem nicer.
I go from party
To party
Every night
we smoke
Our brains out
We drink ourselves
Into coma
And every night
There’s this girl,
It’s always a different girl
Outwardly at least
But every night
At every party
The same thing arrives.
Sometimes we talk
Around a smoke
Or many drinks for me
Sometimes not that much
It always ends the same
And no-one seems to care.
I don’t know how
I am supposed to act
But everything comes back
To the first woman
That loved you once
And then everything decay
To the point of misery
And all these
Make the words flow
And my soul go on
A little more.
So, should I let
This party end?
I’ll sour a drink
And write with this ink
Not a masterpiece maybe
But something at least finished.



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