15 Units

Fifteen shots of vodka or rum,

Or two bottles of cheap wine,

Every one is a different person at 3am;

And the bourbon simply passes the time.

Drink to the ones who can’t stand you,

Drink to the man who acts like you don’t exist,

Let the room spin into your morning sickness.

The day doesn’t hurt when at night you’re pissed.

Reality is the aching boredom and ennui,

A room trapped in your pulsating head,

Drinking to melt away the taste,

Of the embarrassment of all that was said.

In fifteen units it could all be forgotten,

But you must resist and feel every ache.

To chase the bliss that ferments and rots

Is to find peace that is painful and fake.