ramblings and things

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Sunday Morning – post Waltzing Weasel



the life and soul of last night's party
views with dread
the very thought
of moving his head
well aware of the daggery pain
that would stab and scour
each corner of his brain
leaving him exhausted.

fragments of remembrances of conversations
drift slowly through his mind
making him seem fascist
uncaring and unkind

the breakfast he ate for bravado
bacon and eggs warm and greasy
lie on a stomach
already queasy
making him vow
never again
if I survive
if I escape
this hangover alive
 


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Sunday Morning – post Waltzing Weasel