The Drunk

He laid his head back, his speech slurred,
Too many thoughts, not enough words
First he'd been fine, then happy, then great
Now the hour had gotten too late
His taste buds were mute, but his stomach in knots
A fate that even befalls the sturdiest sots
He'd forgotten the why or the who or the when
And was vague on the where and how yet again
But now laying in his bed his mind slowly cleared
The regrets rushing back, the things that he'd feared
The sadness and loss he'd been pushing away
The memories he tried to hide from each day
But every night in his bed as sobriety took him
The pain and the hurt, his quiet sobs shook him
With no one to listen, he'd dug himself in
The world seemed hostile, and no one a friend
He remember his wife, and their little child
So gentle, so beautiful, so tender and mild
The nightmare he'd lived through, when they were taken
And then in the morning, he will awaken
And find his way back to the bar's welcoming door
To drink his dark mem'ries to oblivion once more