As much as people dislike reading poems, I was inspired by Edgar Allen Poe/The vampire LestatAnne Rice/Jean de la Fontain to write this poem/fable thingy, but this is dedacated to my father with much love,

Thanks for reading! and luvs you all,


Ps. this is my first poem/fable, so PLEASE REVIEW!!

It was one foggy night I sat at the bar, my beloved drinking and my mind chaotic.

"It was once my mother said to me, 'what would you like to be when you grow up?' And when I replied she groaned. I had asked her what was wrong and that is when she answered me. 'Your father,' said she her brow set with worry, 'he wanted to be the same thing'" My adored grunted in coherency.

"Yes" he says "'tis true, indeed I wanted to be an author." When I asked why he chuckles,

"I enjoy the idea of making money when I feel like working" In turn, it is my right to laugh.

"You want for the wrong reasons" said I, pausing to wipe the access wine that dripped from his jaw.

"So, you'd like to be an author?"


He laughs in my face, the alcohol fresh on his breath.

He who has no base for his family,

He who has abandoned his wife and children for his own passion for drinking,

He who has spent his fresh Pay-check,

On a flute of perfectly cased wine

Late that night, I took my darling home and sat him down at the rusted table of his hotel room. I left him in the den, searching the kitchen for a pencil. Soon, I sat beside him, pencil and paper in my hands. The following moments were quick, and passed within seconds… subsequently

There I bowed,

My hand on his and,

My lips on his cold forehead

"Here you have written your great novel, the novel of your life shall send you to hell. One who has chosen his life drenched in whisky need not walk the earth. For here you have scrawled you final act, and 'tis here I shall burry you." I dismantled him limb by limb, leaving his head for last. As the final light dimmed from his dilated eyes, I reread the message that he had scribbled on the note paper.

"This is my life" It wrote, as all four corners of the note were dipped in crimson wine. I lifted the floor boards of the hotel room, and shoved him underneath his grave. In my concluding good bye I wrote on the downside of the beam made of wood.

'Here I lay,

Alone in the dark,

My only friend is,

The Liquor in my tomb'

With that, I threw in the crystal fluke, and sealed the hole shut.