The last, few drops of beer;
You tilt the glass back,
It now becomes clear.
You step off the bar stool,
As drunk as a czar’s fool.
Your mouth tastes like a graveyard;
****, has walking always been this hard?
You find your way home, somehow.
Balance and vision are now impaired;
****, is there somewhere I can get my liver repaired?
It’s now a challenge to get to the kitchen.
You’re in no position to think,
So you just sit there and pour another drink.
At those minutes turning to hours on your clock, you stared.
For this life, you realise you were not prepared.
You shuffle and scuffle your way to the couch;
You stumble, your stomach starts to grumble.
This is the moment, the solemn promise;
You swear you will never dare do this again.
You tear at your hair in drunken throes,
In the late hours of the night,
Hopelessly trying to shed your woes.
You wake up on the morrow,
A pitiful mixture of regret and sorrow.
Your hangover follows you around like a faithful hound,
You feel like your soul has been hollowed out.
You swear once more, ‘that was my last beer;’
But, we both know, you’re far from being in the clear.
Does this sound familiar?
