I’m not sure

I’m not sure

It is a good thing

To get used to

Everything being a little crazy

Even a lot crazy.

Sitting in a corner

A little Jack Horner

Absently sucking your thumb

Grieving loss.

Loss of opportunity

The love of your life

The melancholy

Coming off you in waves.

The failure, reeking like

A dogs dinner

Offal and leftovers

Too much whisky.

The cheap stuff

In half bottles

Not the good aged single-malt

Off the top shelf.

You long for it

In your dreams.

Those dreams you have

Where everyone you love

Is around the next corner

But when you get there

They have already gone.

When things look familiar

But different,

Your home is unfinished

The bed is in the garden

The kitchen has no roof

And the toilet

Is hidden in a cupboard.

You have had that dream

Come true,

Once is too often.

Too many clothes ruined

Thrown out in the street

Waking up in a strange room

Too many girlfriends

To remember their names.

The next day

Is always the day after

You were supposed to

Be somewhere else.

Bivouacked in a cold garage

Sleeping in a hammock

Slung across the bonnet

Of a Sunbeam Talbot.

The emblem stuck

Up into your arse

The floor littered

With unfinished poems,

Short stories

And other whimsical nonsense

Written before

You passed out.

The stain of bad choices

Flushing your cheeks

Too much liquor

Can distort the facial features

So they say.

It can certainly change

How you see the world

And if it is a little bit crazy now,

Just wait until you wake up

Tomorrow.