The Hangover
Friday night I got drunk on tequila,
Saturday night I got wasted on you,
High from the way you kiss,
Mellow from the things you say,
Yours is the poison that sends me
Over the edge.
But alcohol wears off,
And you work in the morning,
And I'm coming down hard,
And I feel a little sick,
And I crawl into bed,
And I wake up hung over.
In the morning - actually, the afternoon - when I wake up
Sunlight hurts my eyes and I can't move
I lie there, re-living the night before more vividly than I'd like to
And I think about permanent damage -
I think about permanent anything
And I think you and I could make a lot of sense
Instead we take turns keeping each other at arm's length
Instead we take turns pushing each other away
And I think that sometimes love is like dry heaving
It hurts like hell, and it's fucking pointless.
Friday night I got drunk on tequila,
Saturday night I got wasted on you...
Yours is the poison that sends me
Over the edge.
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This poem was published in WORD RIOT in May 2008.
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