Wasted years

Author's note:
My uncle was an alcoholic. He was only 33 when he died.
I've tried writing this poem from his viewpoint, not mine.
(I'm aware it doesn't 'flow' or rhyme. That is intentional)


Through his eyes
Waking from another drinking binge
He feels regret and numb from the pain
He's lost his wife and kids and for what?
Only an empty bottle to gain.

Why does he do this?
Over and over again
Night after night, 'just one more drink'
He says to himself
That way, he doesn't have to think.

One day, he will 'sort himself out'
He says, as he pours another drink
" I'll go to that A.A. meeting I promised my kids
My life will get better"
As he closes his eyelids
To sleep off another hangover.