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The Alcoholic’s Creed

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Passion from a bottle of booze …

Hate from within the human soul …

frozen in time till the first swallow.

An anger released from the chasm of despair,

Thrusted upon the first person in his path.

These are the emotions of an alcoholic …

Tormented inside by the demon’s dance.

A battered body tortured by mortal weakness,

Hiding pain with a spirited drink.

Smothering fear with bourbon, neat and straight;

have a hit, sometimes a shot on the rocks.

An easy solution … an ego sooo’ther.

A morale builder … till the buzz wears off.

Another bitchin’ day!

The head begins to throb as the sun rises …

Tongue coated with last night’s residue.

Dawn of reality fills your eyes with fear.

Hell Yeah! Pour another shot,

It always starts the day off better than not.



Disgusted friends and family come and go, asking,

“Why do you drink so much?”

Looking at his reflection in the mirror for an answer,

“None of your damn business!”, he yells,

“It’s my affair, my brain and bone, my life!”, stating,

“Leave me the hell alone … get out of my

Sickening sight … out of my misery

Before I tell you another lie.” … for the truth can’t be told.

Yeah! They come and go … weak hearted suckers,

“Can’t hang with the Man!”

They’ve washed their hands of me for good,

“Can’t handle the demons’ play of Rad Rod’s Roulette.

Yeah, Bud! Life in the bottle …

Now that’s the ticket to the show.

I’m riding the fast lane straight to hell …

There’s no other place … I have to go.

What’s the difference, anyway?

I been living hell all my life …

It’s gotta be better on the other side.”



Children feel shame …

parents fret and blame …

They’re all heartbroken with regret.

They wonder the reason why?

Why does their special someone want to die?

Why do they spend their time in the liquor bin?

They can only cry …

Must be the demon whiskey and gin,

Or the kill’ya tequila or ol’ rye.

Whatever the thrist is, it’s drink to the end.

If the desire is too great,

Your child will meet his or her fate.

His name could be Mark, Mike, or James,

Or it could be Johnny, Walter, or Ray …

It doesn’t matter!

In the end, all drunks die the same way.

Her name may be Tina, Tami, Beth, Lisa or Meg …

It all ends the same … they all end up dead!



The bottled spirits make families weep,

“Mommy, where’s Daddy?

When’s Daddy coming home to sleep?”

Well kid, you’re better off without the S.O.B.;

He’s a drunk who wanted to be free,

Free from debt … from the pain he set.

He roams the alleys, joints, and dives …

So don’t you fret … he’s full of regret.



“Hey Darling!

I’ll take a shot of tequila, straight and neat …

Forget the salt, skip the squeeze of lime.

I’ll chase it with the beer …

I like it plain just fine.”, says this lost soul,

“Yeah, babe! You got it beat …

Another shooter-chaser, I need the cheer.

Here’s the money, honey! Keep the change …

I might as well spend my last dime.

You know darling … you’re looking at a man

Who’s ran out of time.”

To all of you out there, don’t judge the man

Till you spend a day in his boots.

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