a drunk's tale

So it seems
that I am drunk
and here I sit
like a sad punk.
Words I have
or rather have not
to describe
my state of gridlock.
Oh these rhymes
they are so lame
for they come
from my very sloshed brain.
Tequila it was
that sour gold
turned me up
a velvet fold.
More than this
I will not say
for tonight
was not my day.
Why is it
that wherever I go
there I am
yet ne'er my goal?
i plan to sleep in
most joyous of joys
to be under the sheets
escaping morning noise
soon I must end
this most silly endeavor
for my mental faculties
are becoming less clever
strange how imbibing
can draw out my words
normally my typing
is nothing but burps
wait no that's not right!
that's not what I meant!
it's just that i haven't
any sense this moment
bonne nuit, dear reader
with ears so patient
to the morning i travel
my pillow adjacent

Oh, and looking back now, those DAHS episodes aren't nearly so regrettable as I made them out to be.

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