Death's doorstep

the trees irritate me with their drunken swaying
even as I stagger alongside loneliness
to the shack i call home.

my alcoholic breath seeps through cracked lips
as I march, with a slight list, toward my door
and fumble with the keys to my life.

another swig from the bottle that I grasp tightly
in my right hand and I swallow a mouthful of myself
to keep my emotions suppressed.

hard bed. but my bed nevertheless. I lie dead, breathing
silently through my matted beard
and drift into a troubled yet somewhat restful sleep.

all the while knowing that drink was my last
and only one thing awaits me beyond the tunnel.
as I step into the light I see him. Death, as horrific
as the previous meetings. He bellows in his quietest
voice, 'it is that time again, Son.'

The End

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