The Honest Prose of a Drunk

Complaint

"If you could taste my emotions,

My wounded pride would be bitter,

My disappointment sour,

And my longing,

Like fine wine gone bad.

It is coiling,

And I feel toxic from it.

I miss the crisp sweetness of joy,

The cream of delight,

And the pure intoxication of love.

Out of all though,

I think I miss being wanted the most.

Can you addicted to being an addiction?"

Says the Sensualist.

"You're being ridiculous."

Sighs the Realist.

"Am I? I thought I was being honest."

She who is never content laments,

Lighting her cigarette with further regret,

Over her poorly chosen company.

"I'm hungry for life,

But find myself short on guests to spend it with."