The Hang Over

[Cropduster]

The Hang Over

I was witless and wasted
My mouth kind of tasted
Like charcoal and fur balls and gravel and stuff

My eyes were still bleeding
Sandpaper reading
I was pleading to die, I wasn’t quite dead enough

I must have got hammered
From what I remembered
Whiskey and scotch became vodka and rum

I lay in a cold sweat
A corpse in a casket
A sad basket case if there ever was one

The mere thought of moving
Was painfully proving
To be more than my body and mind could endure

But then came the hour
I’d set the alarm for
The shriek of the bells made me fall to the floor

I dragged my poor carcass
Across broken glasses
Across empty bottles and cigarette butts

I hauled myself upright
And turned on the faucet
And tried to drown slowly by drinking the drops

So I’m in the shower
Been here for an hour
Letting cold water wash over my head

If this is survival
Thank God I’m alive
But I guess this must be what its like to be dead

Copyright (c) Allan Cropper October 2008

[Bob Pacey]

oh no not a drinker ! never been there and never will be.


Bob

[Cropduster]

A distant memory, Bob.

Don't touch the stuff either

Allan

[Maureen K Clifford]

I see you made it to our pages Allan Welcome to the forum. You're off to a good start mate - I enjoyed the read

[Cropduster]

Thanks Maureen. Off an running, and finding inspiration from reading the works of other more experienced poets.
Glad you enjoyed it.

Allan

[alongtimegone]

Must have been some party. Wish I'd been there.
A humorous read Allan.
Wazza

[Catherine Lee]

Good poem Allan, with great description - really puts you off the alcohol!

[Cropduster]

Thanks Catherine

Don't drink (no more). Learned my lesson a long time ago.

But it was a fun lyric to wright.

Cheers

Allan