I’m a drinker till I die—
it chills me out as nightmares
suck upon my dirty pores
and leave trails of cobwebs
tied around my wrists.
My tongue is full of spit
and spite,
my body a dripping wasteland.
I wheeze when I walk—
a lumbering giant,
lips thirsty slabs of meat.
I eat, I smoke, I drink.
Gimme, gimme, gimme.
I’m a drinker till I die.
Drinkers are a team,
a force,
a movement,
but tragic because the poison
keeps gushing,
giving wet killer kisses
with horror movie panache.
I have ideals of violence,
and a system of uncontrolled rage.
Time to change, time to quit.
But I’m a victim of a breathless menace,
and a drinker till I die.
I’m fighting an ancient war
six feet deep
in a coffin full of booze.
I’m stripped obscene,
ranting at the mud
broken like stones.
Sit with me a while
and listen to my tale
of sewage
spilling down my chin,
splitting my head in two,
I’m a drinker till I die.

…

Tim Frank’s short stories have been published in Bending Genres, X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine, Maudlin House, The Forge Literary Magazine, The Metaworker and elsewhere. He has been nominated for Best Small Fictions. His debut chapbook is, An Advert Can Be Beautiful in the Right Shade of Death (C22 Press ’24)

Twitter: @TimFrankquill