“Four Pegs Down”

Bottoms up,

And four pegs down;

I don’t feel the burn down my throat.

I don’t hear the wineglass clinking,

When kept on the table,

I don’t hear the fading in and fading out sound of a flashing train,

The bars hitting the rails.

I see a dark blaze

And a vibrant murk,

Awaiting me

To gobble me up.

I don’t feel my heartbeats,

The lubb-dubbs.

I see my old friend,

And I listen to her carefully.

She says, “If it doesn’t destroy you, it’s not love”.

I feel numb,

And comfy,

And it augments my thirst.

The more I drink,

Is the more I feel droughty and arid,

And it makes me crave for people

Who don’t exist,

And it makes me a believer in divinity,

And it makes me apologize for being an atheist dope.

It makes me weep for no reason,

It makes me write great poetry,

And when I fall short of words,

I throw the wineglass from Germany, 

At a great velocity

And it hits the floor.

The sound it produces,

Uhmm, I do not know the onomatopoeia.

I see myself tied up to a tree,

And tribals honing and stoning

Their archaic machetes,

Waiting for a palatable dinner.

But I cackle mockingly

Flaunting my putrefied beef,

And I see them flaying me.

It hurts. It really does.

And I become a believer again and pray.

The following morn,

When I awake,

I see I am in my bed

And my limbs fastened with belts,

And shock instruments all around.

And I see myself in a baggy uniform,

The crackbrains wear in asylums,

And tapes and clips all around like it’s fashionable jewellery.

My life’s deplorable.

And I laugh at my plight.

This is the 5th time I am told

I am paranoic,

Or maybe, the ninth.

I wake to die,

And sleep to cry.

Or sometimes,

I live and travel in my sleep.

Darling’s dead now.

She loved me,

And it destroyed her.

Image source: Google

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