The fog is my alcohol,

stooping like injury,

staggering after every fall

in a venus fly trap do I sleep,

a burnt-out firefly,

whose light was maimed

by verbal spears

The fog is my alcohol,

my mind clogged with hurricanes,

and a tempest writes,

the novel of confusion

upon my scalp

The fog is my alcohol,

dizziness is famous

in my staggering trend

the fog is my alcohol,

I booze, and trail

and my bravery stammers

as black becomes

white and white

turns to black

The fog is alcohol;

my visions are blind

to imperfection unseen,

I can even hear

the howl of self- detonation

that echoes

in my life.

By Kakraba Afful