One last tequila shot.
Naked on the couch,
Wrestling on the tv.
Nearly thirty.
Nearly February.
Not one resolution  lasted a day.
Dry January?
When it rains it pours.
We could blame global warming,
Or take responsibility for our wrong doings.
Content until there's no penny's left.
Cash rich,
No flinch.
Is there emotion for this?
The nothingness.
The TV won't guide me now,
Adverts in the background,
The glass sounds like a siren as it hits my gold ring,
The tequila brings a taste to my mouth that makes me feel sick..

Standard ****.