A drink will numb all that pain,
Shout the others of my age.
Go on, grab a claw, let's get wasted!
Alcohol is the best distraction for inner self-hatred.

Fake pleasantries are exchanged upon entering the door,
and drinks find hands before wandering the floor.
All actions taken seem inherently fake, this is the part I can't help but hate.
Everyone buzzed off claws, tequila, and beer,
I don't know why I even come here.

This isn't tag, the drink in your hand isn't home base,
having a buzz doesn't make you safe.
The can of claw can't banish demons, it's not a magical aluminum wand
They're only momentarily paused.
When you wake they'll be there once more,
and yet again you'll crave a drunken dance floor.
"the best way to deal is to drink beer, and that a fact" mumbles a far  gone Chad.

Maybe I'm cynical, I could be far from right
But I've found that putting a drink in my hand
Only hurts me more in the end.