‘Empty Bottles Of Hope’ by Ahmed Nader Gretly

It’s 9:40 on a Wednesday evening.

Or is it Thursday? I don’t care that much.

I’ve been drinking again, more this time.

I haven’t been eating well, hurling every thing,

That makes its way past my throat and into

My rotting stomach.

Sitting at my small desk, in my small apartment;

I look around and see all these empty bottles of

Forgotten dreams, and vivid memories.

An almost empty apartment -which, in a way

Resembles my own emptiness.

Material possessions won’t make you happy though,

But what about mental possessions? Social possessions?

Emotional possessions?

I remember when this apartment was once

Over flowing with women, now… it’s just me.

Me and my damn mind, and those empty bottles

Of broken hope.

When I was growing up, awkward and alone,

I feared human contact. I feared humans in

general, seeing how the world turned out to be.

But now, after all those long years;

I’ve realized that there’s a far more crimson beast

Than human contact… Desolation.

Solitariness.

Alienation.

When the booze is all gone, and I’m too

Fucked up to go score some more; I smoke.

I smoke cigarette after cigarette, feeling that

Smoke burning its way through my lungs.

I put them out on my forearms, thighs, just

To hear that hissing sound, and that sharp pain

I’m too fucked up to feel.

I feel though, but only because I know

I’m supposed to.

Sitting at my small desk, in my small apartment

Listening to these voices in my head that are so real,

Like ghosts of past failures haunting me, Gnawing at

My insides, eating my soul bit by bit,

Leaving me a cold body,

With only that violent stab of loneliness keeping me company.

But nothing will ever go back to normal now, will it?

What is this ‘normal’?

Is it the Nine to Five job normal?

The big happy family normal?

The nice home in the suburbs normal?

The soberness normal?

The cleanliness  normal?

The sane normal?

What?!

Normal is no longer normal.

It’s 9:50 on a Wednesday evening.

Or is it Thursday? I don’t care that much;

I don’t care anymore.

I don’t care anymore.

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About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
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3 Responses to ‘Empty Bottles Of Hope’ by Ahmed Nader Gretly

  1. Pingback: Thursday Poets Rally Week 45 (June 2-8, 2011) | Promising Poets' Poetry Cafe

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