Born slipping,
The sun is coming up,
And the birds are starting to sing.
“Time to go home"
They sing and I agree,
But I'm locked in and too paranoid
To leave the party.
What if they all hate me?
If I go they'll all slabber and berate me.
Does everyone really hate me?
Eyes wonder and look back
To the last few cigarettes in the pack.
The beer flavourless and over fizzy.
"OK, can someone order me a taxi?"
