22 Feb 2019

"The Chat"

The other day my wife said she wanted to have a chat about my drinking
See I like a drink 
A stout
A pilsner
Dry hopped
Double hopped
White Russian
Black Russian
It doesn't matter what it is as long as it gets me drunk
I just prefer the world when it's slightly out of focus
In the past, I've used it as a crutch
I've drowned my sorrows and my feelings
I've slept on benches
In the park
On the cricket green
And once in someone's bath
I've drunk home-brewed wine
Gutrot cider
Gone minesweeping
I've got tattooed
Been refused a tattoo
Woke up in hospital
I've been sick on other people's shoes
But I'm a happy drunk
A creative drunk
I wrote a novel on a solid three pints a night rule
Because I believe in Ernest
I'm never a violent drunk
I'll tell you that you're my best mate
Sing you songs
I'll walk you home
I always stand my round
She wanted to talk about my drinking
There was no mention of meetings
Or admitting I've got a problem
It wasn't my turn to drive
there were no tears
No stinging eyes
See I've been sober now for three whole months
And she knows what is coming next
No more steak or bacon butties
It's all falafel and chickpea curry
She's heard the sound of muffled hardcore bleeding from my earphones
She's seen me draw the X on my hand
She knows that deep down I'm just that broken
That I always get caught on new obsessions 
It's always all or nothing with me
She can see
She can see that I'm going to go too far

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