Reeling

There's a man who's wondering
 if he'll make it to next week.
 His telephone is ringing.
 Two years on the wagon,
 His life was back on track,
 but now he's caved,
 a terminal slave
 to the horizontal rain
 that streaks through the recesses
 of his saturated brain.
 A cold wind curls off the inside of his skull
 as he stares at the ceiling,
 senses reeling,
 lost all feeling...
 Just another twist of another cap,
 and it's a step closer to the end of being trapped
 in the prison of a life dripped on
 by the slow trickle of a gutter clogged
 with filthy remnants
 of hopes and dreams.
 A life polluted by the weight of the world.
 A man once vibrant
 with a sense of self-worth
 with a sense of humor
 with a sense of freedom.
 A man with a vision
 of a place
 where he would place
 his puzzle piece.
 But this puzzle got left out in the rain
 And pieces missing
 Got soaked and frayed.
 So he cracks another
 to drown the pain.
 What drives a person to this point?
 Divorced and ditched,
 and divorced from the life of the past.
 Linked to addiction
 like a fucking curse.
 Handcuffed to a slowly sinking car.
 Sinking.
 Sinking for years.
 There he is on the floor.
 His telephone stopped ringing.