My Drunken Stupor

I don’t feel like myself anymore.
I used to have the greatest memory,
Many times people called me calculative,
I saw a blessing in disguise.

I’m kinda caught in the middle. Dear self, am I making sense?  Cause I (am) think I’m drunk.

Now I rely on pen,
On paper and notes.
I forget
The simplest things.
I forget
My feelings

Maybe, what a weird situation to be in. I’d better learn.

I don’t know what happened
I must have grown up.
Which makes no sense because
The more I grew the less I knew,
The less I knew the more mistakes I made.
I grew too careful; fearful
I stagnated.

It feels like when my bubble popped I was
Dropped into a puddle of grey.
Just one shade to
Stains my eyes; mark my skin
Dull enough to have me think
Nothing of it.

I’m not even happy when I’m pissed drunk so I might as well stick to my coffee.

I don’t feel anything like myself,
But I may just be striving to go back
To a memory of myself.
One where I didn’t have to
Count the steps in my house
Out loud
Just to be sure of myself.
Or apologise profusely to
An empty wastepaper bin

Today I woke up. I don’t remeber how I got to bed. I think I’m showered, I just don’t know I managed such a feat. How am I supposed to feel? Because right now I feel so horribly, terribly and tragically similar to how I felt yesterday, the day before and a year or two before that.

It does not help that I feel so weirded out.
Like a part of my life had been stolen from me.
I probably wouldn’t have cared if I remembered.
But that memory was still mine to
Forget.

What pains me most is that all the drinks in the world,
Loud music that makes no sense at all
And stolen pictures,
Has made me realize that even unconscious and glassy eyed,
I am unable to forget
What I yearn to forget most.

And that is the greatest irony of all.

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