You’re never alone

A stashed hoard of gold blocks
screwed to the wall at the end of the ward
doesn’t escape my red eyed glance
as I stagger through the Priory doors
and nervously unfold my habit

rubber bed liners skate under me
but I’m already through thin ice
trapped under a microscope slide
glugging down death
as my skin shivers, quakes
and evaporates
the last bottle ever

(for now)

On my feet again
I make a mad monk’s waddle
in my string tied dressing gown
to the box of ingots under the stairs
and for the first time in my life
buy a packet of cigarettes.