I am very thrilled to share a raw, honest piece by my talented hubby …
The Ashes of Saturday Night
Got a bad whiskey morning,
from a good whiskey night.
Sunday morning scatters,
the ashes of Saturday night.
Whiskey fills the cracks,
where the pain gets in,
where the truth comes out,
in lipstick words,
scrawled on bare mattresses,
across lonesome walls,
where drunks go to cry.
where liars go to die.
Neglected clocks stop spinning,
hands tied to resentful faces.
Sunrise at midnight,
whiskey don’t know.
Sunset at dawn.
whiskey don’t care.
Day, night, night or day;
‘who gives a fuck anyway?’
Impaired writing, drowning art,
killing time with phrases.
Words stagger from my mind,
drunken art gone mad.
Slurred speech, slippery thought,
spewed on bathroom floors.
Whiskey poets weep and write,
in the ashes of Saturday night.
Got a bad whiskey morning,
from a good whiskey night.
Sunday morning scatters,
the ashes of Saturday night.
© Hugh…
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