Lamenting a lover, lost for the drink.

GentleReader

Dawns rumbling echo forcefully pushes
a bleary tear from red-raw eyes.
Its growling glow hunts in a pack,
Smelling fear here where I lie.
Eyes that dawn too often see,
That have not slept for the last three
Can only conjure up depression,
and mutilated self-expression.
And how much can one man atone,
Whilst all the while still doing wrong.

I've tried to drop the bottle love.
To turn from the smoke and cry no more.
To run from the drugs and head for the door,
But now here at dawn, slumped on the floor,
This boys race is run.
His speech is slurred and his eyes are red
his drinking isn't done.

This is no sermon of regret,
No cured man standing upon the altar,
Sobriety holds a den of fools,
I'd rather slur stumble and falter,
For dawn is a friend to a man with too few,
Who knows that I dont have a clue what to do,
A reliable friend, with a blistering view,
Of a time non-existant when this drinking is through.

So raise your glass to a life drank and swallowed,
A corpse with a pulse, craven and hollow,
And mutter a toast filled with anger and pity.
Bemoaning the loss of what's never to be.