The DOP

Red bled the sun upon a dying day.
I was red across the dial,in denial.
Purple bags bemoaning alcoholics’ eyes.
Blind, they still portray a depth of ruin You’ll never understand.

I boozed away until another trial,
Always doing wrong inside a wrong.
Inside a wrong, forgetting all the right.
Fretting, drinking, pinking up, stinking:
Ah! the whiskey; I drank another round.

Red eased into the night; black scoffed.
I was black across the eyes – no surprise!
I couldn’t pray,

I choked in red; died like a fish
Ripped, stripped by a shark.
I was cold,a deathly mound
Surrounded by an audience of shuffling feet.
Replete, my corpse had played its role.

No more.
No more.