Metamorphosis

I have drunk so much for my health,
that I became sick.
Days were counted in glasses of wine,
as time would be, sand in an hourglass.
There was nothing to do in those days.
No girl to miss, no drive to create,
no higher purpose to be drawn to.
I was a serpent drifting aimlessly
along the rivers.
I still am sometimes. Some days.
When the winter cold
keeps my blood indifferent.
When I smoke on a pair of stair,
beneath the enveloping darkness.

I don't drink that much these days though,
Now I just sit in cafes, in buses,
in unfamiliar apartments,
staring out the windows,
in a dead and blank way.
I used to be a serpent, you know,
but now I'm just a pet lizard.