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Striving For Stefanov



A bit of a poem about an aspect of my life


Stefanov is a good ol’ mate of mine,

He’s a Russian lad, living in Australia.

He’s there for me, every time,

Without him, I’m a shaky failure.


He’s quite small, but he packs a punch,

We have lots of fun together,

We get drunk!


He has his flaws though, quite a few,

He leaves me for days at a time,

he takes my money occassionally,

But when he comes back, I let him explain.


Stefanov, when he’s not with me,

is working around at many different places,

meeting new people, greeting new faces,

I’m not the only friend he has, he has at least 20!


When Stefanov influences me a tad too much,

I get angry and solemn and sometimes break stuff!

I become a farce of myself and it’s all his fault!

Stefanov is a potent guy, take him in small doses.


Stefanov comes barging on into my mind most days,

like he lives up there, and throws tantrums in the room of my brain!

When he does this, I bend to his will,

I meet up with him, and he with me.


Our usual thing is what we do,

we drink, drink, drinkypoo!

At the end of the night, he leaves me, dry.

I make plans for the following day, to reunite.


Stefanov isn’t a man, he’s not even a person,

He’s a bottle of vodka. My curse, my demon.

The bane of my life, yet sometimes quite pleasant!?

My name is Mr. goat, and I’m an alcoholic person.

*”Hello Mr. Goat, welcome to Alcoholics Annoyingness”*






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