Stale smoke from endless cigarettes
Hangs softly in the rafters,
Gently billowing around the beams
As the barkeep pours another draft.
Its the same old tired crowd
Drowning their sorrows in their glasses.
I join the dilapidated throng,
Looking to find solace in the drink,
Though it has never come before.
It is a Catch-22, inescapable,
In every way possible.
Drink to forget,
Only to remember again tomorrow.
I stick to the ritual,
For it is the only thing I know.
As the days  drag on,
They become clouded like the rafters,
Stale smoke blurring everything,
Cold drafts blurring everything,
And I stick to the ritual,
For its the only thing I know.
Night after night I shuffle in,
Forgetting night after night.
Am I even alive...
I stick to the ritual,
For its everything I have ever known.