Househunting, horsehunting

You were pissed.
You were so pissed, you moved along the floor with your cheek
which was the colour of vodka.
You pissed whiskey; and you drank your own piss
to get pissed again.
And then
when you were too pissed to get pissed
you inserted a catheter which couriered a mainline of ethanol
piss
back into your capillary distillery,
verily pissed as a fart - that fart being the fart
that went on the piss with other farts to exercise elbow
in a local called the Gas Chamber
for the slurred chatter of raspberry shame;
and came home to find the locks changed
by Mrs Fart.

You were a sample away from acceptance at rehab -
urine! -
But you were pissed before
you could find your suitcase

and, such a body blow to face

You got high.
You got so high you singed your fringe on the earth's atmosphere
before getting so high you found the universe was finite
and you'd come full circle, back to your bedsit
the spoon and the Zippo.
You lied.
You hue and cried about
how heroin wasn't really a drug
(just gave you a lift in the morning)
called us hypocrites, got on your own -
injected your own - tits.

Now at Moss Side car boot sales
you buy cheap car boots
and top guns -
you feel the needle,
the needle for speed.

But please! Hopefully
this intense research into international "smacking"
leading to the cheapest "horse" around, globally,
in a war-torn Central American tin potty
where you've found
a nice semi-detached, for total proximity -

is this when you show the mirror your palms?
Tell your reflection, "We could have a problem" ?