Drunken Charade by Mark McConville

Brit Grit, Mark McConville, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

Drunken Charade.

Choose your path

One that illuminates

One that takes you through events

And neon lit alleyways where alcohol tinged

Human beings populate and tell their tales.


You’ve been waiting for this moment

When all shackles are cut

When freedom feels euphoric

It all feels manic too

In these testing times where hearts pulsate

For cleaner blood

And more storage to contain worries.


You share a bottle of grade c whiskey

With the leader of this drunken charade

She’s scarred and shaky

Unpredictable and marginalised

Broken skin touches your skin

She might be diseased but you couldn’t care less

As you deter suicide.


Drunk now

You’re sitting on a sheet of cardboard

Blasphemy orders another drink

You see blurred lines

There’s no sense or diplomatic virtues

The world is a damaging place

And you’re only realising this isn’t a time of clarity.


You want to sober up

So you can walk back into isolation

You were safer in a room filled with books

And cigarettes, and challenging jigsaws,

Where normality excelled.


These people aren’t friends

They’re enemies

And you’re edging close to sinking straight

Into a bottle or even worse a dangerous sleep.


Bright lights and sirens

Are seen and heard

They scatter

You’re slumped and looted of faith and possessions


You’ve been saved.

Mark McConville