DRUNK

Colors combined, 
a shitty painting without shape
making me dizzy. 
Voices as one, relentless, pounding wave.
Don't scream! 
How many fingers???... 
How the hell should I know? 
Figures moving too fast to catch, 
receding figures deprived of actual solidness 
teasing me with a glimpse of this and that. 
Muffled words escape dry desert lips;  
incoherent sentences seem to make sense to me.
Intoxicating aromas tempt senses long forgotten. 
Laughter bubbles up inside 
as I watch my feet move back and forth below, 
a blurry pair of black leather horses. 
Tripping, falling, stumbling incessantly, 
Tumbling along a kicked bouncing ball having no destination, 
embracing nearby walls as one would embrace a lover, 
a human rubber-band. 
Awareness slowly leaves my body, 
it's slow withdrawal the draining of blood, 
the element of life receding without effort by invisible fangs of a prey.
Sleep possesses every bone, every limb in this shell of a body
and like an unborn child, 
I am suspended in a void, 
only to awake to a blinding new day,
to face a mundane world of the normal.
The visions of the surreal setting the night before,
the memory of pleasure, 
now a regretful past-time. 
My brain, being dragged through shards of sharp glass,
heightens the feeling of regret as I stare dumbly at the stark white ceiling 
above me,
only to mutter once more... 
"Hangovers are a bitch."