Drinker

The Drinker
I wander through the void of drink, seldom do I show it.
I vomit every Saturday night and money, I all but blow it.

Some times my drunken stupor pays off, cause I'm a naughty wag.
It gives me a good opportunity to sleep with some old bag.

In parts of the bitches bedroom my mechanism starts athrusting.
Going through the motions at least it's safer than trusting.

A final orgasmic climax nearly reaches my cold, drunk heart.
But I realise I'm just a drinker and loves a different art.

I wander back my dreary flat and open the bloody door.
I'm greated by a giant mess, I've thrown up on the floor.

I go to bed, wake up again, head in a pool of vomit.
And society for the week ahead I shun myself far from it.

I've reached my life's true limit, it's got the best of me.
My suicidal tendancies are growing stronger than you can see.

I cut my wrists inside my room hidden well out of sight.
and my new friend death whispers to me "hold on a slight".

He watches me in agony pain writhing thru to my heart.
He whispers to me "Its just begun, this is only the start".

Death watches One hour pass and my life is all but done.
But right the end he whispers life's meaning, just for fun.

Your a drinker sir he says to me and your here for nothing more,
Than to drink and die in a pool of blood and knock on hells great
door.