Stumble Leta (Or as we say Next Level)

Somber,
As I remember a life deluded,
Where the bottom of a bottle,
Was the answer to my problems,
The Scotch,
Three fingers at a time,
Falling down,
Not drunk just numb,
Constant,
Scotch,
Somber,
Angry,
Tormented,
In an emotional duck and cover,
As I search for the semblance of me,
That I might know,
That I might feel,
That I might surrender,
That I might know,
And yet,
All I know,
Is all I have not known,
That all I have not known,
Is what I am yet to become,
How to search for that which cannot be found,
Unless you release,
Unless I release,
Of course you being more easy than I,
Hence my constant rush toward you,
Rather than I,
Should this have been easy,
Should I not know how discovered,
The provenance of my true life work,
I could not understand,
That my soul,
My mind,
My body and my surrender,
Could not be unpeeled,
Like an onion,
Layered,
Tears concealing,
What I have always known,
My rusted exterior,
Need only be polished,
Dropped…
So I can stand upright,
Polished,
Debonair,
And suave.

SDM