Getting drunk on blood and poetry

When the darkness beckons

and the eerie silence settles beautifully

I watch the moon gracefully make its debut in the sky

I snuggle comfortably in my big fluffy chair in the lamp light

Pour myself a glass

Giving a toast to the lives sacrificed

Their blood perfectly chilled over ice

*

A mouthful flows so gracefully down my throat

Leaving delightful hints around the tongue

Ignites an engine in my soul

The beginning of my drunken night

Euphoria, I welcome you

Please take me home

*

My brain functions best in this capacity

Disinhibition drives the flow of my poetic words

A feeling of satiation as those white pages

become filled with black ink and hints of my red drink

There’s no filtering for what oozes out of my finger tips

*

In the morning, I have no regrets

I begin my quest for fresh prey

It’s what my savage mind requires, so every night

I can transport myself somewhere else

Living entirely in the moment

*

The words on the page are a stark reminder

of my drunkenness in all forms

But without blood and poetry

my mind’s ability to create flawless work

would be lost

*

Why would I punish myself by abstaining from such fun?

How much crueler do you think I’d become?

...

Thank you for reading! This was poem was first published here.