by on January 7, 2019 :: 0 comments

I stagger upstairs on another boozy night
Two reds down and a tinge of nostalgia clouds the air
As I know tonight there are more words to come
From this drunken pen
This drunken mind
But when I get through all the way to my room I realise
Oh shit the damn blasted ashtray has remained downstairs
So down I go knowing no words will get written without any smoke
Not tonight
Not any night
Certainly not in this lifetime anyway
So on I go staggering down then up and now I’m back and damn it
I forgot what this poem was meant to be all about!

editors note:

Sometimes, where there’s smoke, there’s no fire. Damn! – mh clay

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