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Rated: E · Monologue · Other · #2195514
Scourge of alcoholism
Drunk and Disallusioned

The beginning at a young age, the lack of affection or even interest. The affirmation of ugly things. This forms a triad. This triad to soon perform great feats. Disastrous feats of loneliness, sadness, despair, an inability to create meaningful relationships or actually even superficial ones. Relationships built on misinformation and what is meant to be seen rather than what is actual.

This leads to the lessons learned from ones parental schooling, then to the bottle and the disaster it soon brings. Alcohol is a fantastic manipulator your best friend, worst enemy and conspirator. It can make you dance, sing, act and a host of other feats not accessible when sober. It can make ugly girls beautiful, losers not so. It can make one a poet laureate, a mighty creative genius, an artist extraordinaire.
It will make you the most attentive lover both masterful and skillful, all the while preventing you from getting hurt. Your feelings will never be disrupted with this friend at your side, beneath your pillow or maybe hidden in the back of the closet or in the toilet tank?

This friend is all yours and belongs to no other. He (John Barleycorn) will always be your best bud, the truth no one else will speak to you. He knows you as no other and you will trust and love him for this.

Your girlfriend or wife becomes suspect while your best friend rages on. He has all the wisdom of the world while you need his advice. It just takes a bit of time before he becomes clear to you.

No need to fear, he will be here with all he has to offer soon. It seems as though each day he needs to clarify your thoughts earlier and earlier.
Your pal is a progressive. Funny he never told you? Curious? Your brain power and intellectual thoughts are beyond the reach of most now. You have isolated yourself from those not your equal or beyond your friendship and trust.

So many empty nights getting by on your looks, sex with strangers. All feeling so nice and warm while in process but forgotten the very moment it was done. The guilt of letting down that partner that wanted to trust, to believe, makes me wonder. Who are these people I am having sex with? Are they the wounded, abandoned?

My best friend makes me ponder this no more.
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