Hangover

Life:It’s just a crime,There’s never quite enough time,Early to bed and yes to rise,A slave to bills mounting dailyBeside the fireside, No Place’s can I be and no time for tea,Dreaded work is beckoning me,Rising from slumberI slip like lumber, felled byP j’s which now have deserted me, Crazed dazed lying face down,I gather I grovel, as self respect,has been spread eagled, andA smiling crack sits above,for all the world to see, Humbly pathetically, draggingNakedness I repose,Who’s this stranger lookingMirroring alikeness,But god so ugly; assadly looking down to my toes, Pot belly and saggy eyed, reflectinga six pack of longing,But is no longer to see,Slipped away south;love handles noware adorning in front of me, Eyes blackened, bloated, from falling,looking as though I’ve foughtwith Mohammad ali,my friends J D and Bacardi,  laughing,Staring back at me, Pants found now in hand; toyingBattling – with knotted leggings,Which have won the first round,Stinking of fag ash ends, andbottled friends, Just staringat stained curry strides, They seem to have partaken more than me,Other stains;      (God only knows)are grinning right back at me,“Just please” (I blush) don’t ask me,Precious moments are gathering speed, Times against me, hammering secondsInside my head; …….(Reflection)“Fuck it”I’m back off to bed,