A grimace overtakes my expression.



The onslaught continues,

My vision begins to blur.


My filter vanishes,

Words now cutting deeper than the sharpest knife,

Emotion raw like fresh cut meat.


Confused or focused?

No matter,

What's done is done.


As I stand alone in my drunken stupor,

Debating with the man in the mirror,

My attempt at finding solace never felt so unclear.


But what if the reflection is only an illusion,

Am I truly alone while the empty glass laughs?

Or is the booze the one with the last laugh...

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lyrycsyntyme's picture

This one grows in strength as

This one grows in strength as it builds towards it's ultimate conclusion. The shift in poetic structure after the 4th stanza is a nice play, and also brings on the most original word usage in Stupor. The final question posed really bent the image of a laugh man into one very contorted, eerie, and perhaps even a bit disturbed. I also appreciated the idea that getting drunker was driving this person further from solace and any certain way of finding it.