The party is over.
The guests have all left.
Stumble to the bathroom,
a pit stop before bed.
Your stomach flows over.
You’re retching up a mess.
Laying in the men’s room,
wishing you were dead.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 4:11 AM UTC
The party is over.
The guests have all left.
Stumble to the bathroom,
a pit stop before bed.
Your stomach flows over.
You’re retching up a mess.
Laying in the men’s room,
wishing you were dead.
Everyone remembers their 21st, or at least some of it. Wrote this over a year ago. Just found it now.
