this life is a slow suicide

say the hungover eyes
and it’s all degenerate now
the excuses getting as likely
as the dog ate my homework
informing the boss i had sunstroke
though i doubt she bought it,
not for a moment
hands shaking so much
i could n’t sign out
a 3 day bender, mostly unknown
lost time and a fist of guilt
to the gut
and now the shakes and pain
codeine cant touch
though maybe, yesterday
it was funny out in the beer garden
laughing
as the socialist described the time
he conceded defeat
on election night
tripping off his nut
and how the neighbour
offered me his bobcat
free of charge
anytime i felt like smashing
an ex lover’s sculpture
in the northbridge piazza
but 17 hours later and barely alive
i’m not laughing now
sweating it out in a foetal ball
think i’ve had enough
at least for a while