One Hundred Times Poem by Matt Mondschein

The time is now
One hundred to be precise
One hundred verse
I call my own

To think or not
To drink or not
Bedeviled once again
Many more memories
Gripping inside me

At least my words
I write with my pen
Or an index finger
To be excact

Not just mouthing off
Like I used to do
Talking trash
Just like you

Are they just simple minds
That read these memories?
Perhaps a genious or two
How about a hypocrite
Without a soul

No matter what you think of this
Alcoholics pen
I will come back and
Stike the keyboard
Once again