He wakes, he’s late

For work in the morning

Forgot to set the alarm

He kept on snoring

Arms dangle

Stumbling drunk, He scrambles

Catches his reflection in the mirror

All he sees is an asshole

He lingers, bewildered

At what became of his figure

He begins to shave

Knowing the reactions he’ll encounter

The stares, the voices that’ll say

He’s a thug, he’s a fiend

A drug addict, a shattered dream

A brain splattered, hands covered in insanity

A walking tragedy

He should have had kids, started a family

He’s one with gravity

Always falling off

He’s wasted talent, absent, he’s lost

He’s drifting off

A floating log down a river

Waiting to get flushed down

He’s a crumbling pillar

Drowning in whiskey, Coors light and other liquors

His list of abilities is getting smaller

His belly is getting bigger

His head is swollen

His heart is always open

But his spirit is broken

And his confidence is choking

His intentions eroded

His appearance is horrid

Looks like a hurricane hit

Between his feet and his forehead

He’s morbid, prefers the company of corpses

Walks around like he’s dragging a sore leg

When he eats he gorges, not sharing the bread

Doesn’t have a bed

Sleeps on a couch instead

Dead inside, he’s a hallow shell

Just waiting for the end, He’s going to hell

Splashes water in his face

Spits out the fluoride

Screams in the mirror

Can’t keep doing this

Got to have more pride

Got to find a balance

Got to tame the madness

Eliminate the sadness

Got to find the strength inside

And reawake this hope alive

Got to find the drive to keep on living

Got to jumpstart this heart

And hope to be forgiven

Come to terms with the now

And build towards a later

Got to pull myself together

Got to be my own savior

BY OSCAR TORRES LEON