John Singer Sargent | 1856-1925 | Venetian Bead Stringers | | 1880 – 1882 | Oil on canvas | 55.9 x 78.7 cms | 22 x 30 3/4 ins | National Gallery of Ireland Dublin 2 | Ireland
Perfect Love
From the bar to my apartment goes my train
I feel at ease on the barstool
I go to the barroom
to cry – about my drinking
the empty places in my heart
the writing’s on the wall
it doesn’t get better for us
I’m at the mercy of someone else to help
I see it in all your faces
What would you have me do?
They say, come along with us
this is what we do
it’s called perfect love
freedom to let you be you
nothing managed me more than the barstool
it burned _ my life _ to the ground _
one drink’s too many, a thousand’s never enough
my own wishful thinking was a handful of proper nouns
I’ve been thrown out many times
to come back from lunch was an impossible task
they’re not going to let me in
I could never back it up
What would you have me do?
They say, come along with us
this is what we do
it’s called perfect love
freedom to let you be you
I laid my keys on the bar for a drink
and compromised everything not to feel
never will I experience what could have been
love, lust and loyalty could never heal
I hurt more than any hellish hangover
devoted to running from pain and problems
problems of living I could never face up to
now I’ve hit rock bottom
What would you have me do?
They say, come along with us
this is what we do
it’s called perfect love
freedom to let you be
I can’t keep pretending I’m in control
with truth in one hand
and fear in the other
§tacy §weeney
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