As broken as Bukowski

As broken as Bukowski

After a relapse

Discovering my humanity

During a bout of vertigo

Holding on to the toilet bowl

Afeared of an upchuck

Of disavowed vowels

An injudicious movement

Of the bowels

There was no humour in it

At the time.

Laid low

By circumstance

Afraid of a lonely death

Pretending to understand

The meaning of life

As a secondary gain

When pretentiousness

Gets the better of good sense.

On those days

After a skinful

Which was once a binge

And is now one glass too many

The constitution not being

What it once was.

Laid low

With intolerance of life

Too weak to lift a bottle

Of Gaviscon.

There is always

An existential threat

In the loss of self

Succumbing to self-indulgence

Wishing for success

Whilst secretly embracing

The anonymity of failure.

Sucking it up,

Basking in pretension

It is in keeping

With cowardice

The timorous beastie

The wasteful prodigal

With the greatest need

For satisfaction.

Laid low

By a lack of self-worth

And a veneer of grandiosity.