Relapse

The drinks that flows as rivers, the liquid that when absent sends loud quivers.

When all those around you drink, smile in your face with alcoholic breath, it only makes me want to drink to a certain death.

But I am the one with the issue, I am the one who is forced to live in a world were I must walk without a soled shoe.

Looking in a mirror at a man who once was, people tell me I’m strong, could they be more wrong?

I look through the bottom of lost bottles left and right like walking duck wattles, I’ll go spend the night in foreign hostels, street curbs and broken dreams.

By Isaac Gathings

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A Walk With Wind

You hear it outside your window, the hissing wind blow, the element that makes you hold tight to your pillow.

Some times I wish I could just be the wind, the free flowing, forever blowing unseen thing that comes to the sleepy eyes of man like a dream.

I wish I could hold her hand, I wish I could hold her as she sweeps over the grassy land, but, who am I? Just a man.

My past haunts me as the tail whip of a curving wind, is it then that I must go the journey alone? Alone in the wind filled night that brings chills just over the distant hills.

By Isaac Gathings.

Street

Two souls sitting in a car,

Same destination,

That seems somewhat far.

It’s when the sun kisses their faces,

They quicken their paces.

Side walk gatherings,

A child’s face peering through restaurant windows,

Slowly, cars create exhaust rows.

A breeze whips through blond and black strings,

A sun becomes the moon,

Now we will have street dreams.

By Isaac Gathings

Death Taketh

Raves of the night, blessed be the rotten blight of death might that the world may feel the deadly love of two who once trampled the grass of earth.

Why must we experience true love in our rotted coffins? Your hands caress my skeletal fingers, my hands massage your forever smiling skull.

Lustfully I watch your flowing and tattered wedding dress. I dress my best in a bloodied tuxedo, now as we dance under a dreadful moonlight, all the world will know.

Our bodies have been ravaged by hungry things

Dreams, dreams of those grateful dead things that tug at us both like branches reaching for a running dead soul.

But together, you and I, are what death taketh.

By Isaac Gathings

Grave

Why do you sit there? Sitting there in the London fog air.

Time for you has become a rotten tag as it drags on, like a child dragging behind him a tattered rug you neglect.

Your gravestone face of wonder, your delusional views of what was and what is yet to come.

By Isaac Gathings

Death Perpetual

All night drinks,

To wispy hands of ghosts tugging on these cufflinks,

It is what I call, the drunk man’s high jinks.

Whilst the world that embraces this soul,

The soul for which the liquid courage that once coursed through me made sure I achieved the goal.

A last breath? Silently sulking away, Like a water caressed rock I began to sink into the alcoholic death.

Then came the new birth, death of old, born anew,

But, sadly whilst those around me drink, I am left alone to think, am I now born askew?

Oh how death comes in many forms, just as subtle storms,

During those moments when earth imploded around me,

I’d often find myself deep into an alcoholics nuclear drinking spree.

I’ll face the bottom of a gravestone, alone maybe,

Today is a death perpetual.

By Isaac Gathings

The Suppression of Oppression

Memories can keep a man bogged down, like the corners of a cheeky frown.

Like wisps in the rain of a night storm, I feel the haunting touch of your arm, is the kiss to warn? Or were you attempting to keep me warm?

The suppression of these oppression memories haunts, the taunts of a past long gone, how must I hold on?

Nowhere near, blind to the fear of what my heart may hear I step onto unseen paths.

The resurrection of your interjection mixed with my verbal injection has now started a silent reflection of your oppression.

By Isaac Gathings.