Blind Drunk on Being Love Starved Street

Held shut lids to forget what fluids he’s lying in,
When the paramedics say,
We gotta move him.
While the designer cut crowds say
Get that embarrassment to being publicly pathetic
Outta here,
Now.
And he says…

Sorry for being in your way,
Keep on walking
Forget me.
But the ambos gotta know
What he’s had?

Unfortunately all he can remember is downing
A six pack
Of premium premature melancholy
At dinner
While looking into the eyes of
Somebody who cares, but can’t
Anymore.
Then moving to a couple of pubs,
Where soda and sour submissions
To failure were sculled
Ten short glasses at a time.
With chasing shots of So Long
Fair Well.
Finally before the black,
Schooners of Self Doubt,
And standard sized bombs
Of I’ve Lost Everything
Washed consciousness
Away.

Not a bad night really,
For being abruptly alone again
By the end.

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