June 2025 Editor's Choice: "Dead Soul, Drunken Poet"

I am a dead soul, drunk on the book -

each line a shot

coursing through my veins,

pounding at my skull.

I'm so damn drunk.

My eyes - shut.

Cracked by verses

written in the sky,

unreadable,

invisible,

yet too loud to ignore.

I'm soaked in today,

but my heart aches

for a sip of soberness -

to be laid down

tenderly

on a bed of poetry

and read like scripture.

I'm struck,

and stuck in mad.

The pen won't move.

The pages stare back,

blank as my mind.

I'm a dead soul,

drinking from the bowl,

a bottle crowned above -

Why just me?

Even my lines are wasted,

slurring, staggering,

refusing to leave.

Will I survive?

I can't even read

my own broken verse.

There's no peace aboard -

just storm.

Save me,

before I drown

in my own poem.

(DRE ARTS)

ILA Magazine