Wasted

Wasted

He has another mistress
Much more appealing than am I.
She dulls his brain and in his ear
She whispers lovely lies.

She tells him what a stud he is,
A man to be admired.
He feels so young and smart
And soon forgets that he is tired.

A sip or two and she begins
To take his cares away.
No conscience here; no pain, no grief.
He's forgotten how to pray.

Her perfume so alluring,
Anticipation turns to haste.
Anesthesia in a plain brown wrapper
To turn a man to waste.

To her he surrenders self respect,
Integrity and more,
But he will never give her up.
She's got him to the core.

He says he's hurting no one
But himself for goodness sake.
He refuses to see the destruction
He's left trembling in his wake.

And if by chance a doubt slips in,
If he allows himself to think,
The antidote is there at hand.
It's time for another drink.

She's robbed him of relationships,
Of those who really cared.
He doesn't see her uglyness,
He sees her sweet and fair.

Yet she is not the culprit here,
His destruction she does not seek.
He alone decides to drink.
The man himself is weak.

Mary Yetter