Tomorrow is the day I get clean
sun gets high, and the sun sets
and by noon, I always forget
yesterday’s promises
are today’s mistakes
drunkards like I often make
so tomorrow is the day I get clean
punch into work, and leave as soon as I can
off to my fix, was always the plan
hours after; stumble the road
foggy eyes, barely get home
fall into bed with a throbbing head
tomorrow is the day I get clean
wake up on the floor with one regret:
there’s nothing more, I always forget
bottle’s far for a crawl
but it’s that, or make a call
asking for help from friends of my past
but with drunkards like I, they never last
the promises are lies
heard too many times:
tomorrow is the day I get clean
days to months, they turn into years
but with a buzz, I’m absent of fears
finding excuses, convincing myself
don’t need the ones, trying to help
shame is my name, or as so, I’m told
by myself as others grow old
the passion is gone as the days are long
only a few months til I get clean
A poem by Edward Waugh