7

The Drunk : Day I ( The next morning)

I feel the nachos from last night,

I sense a battle coming. 

A battle between nachos and an old tuna sandwich.

They confront each other in a sea of Irish whiskey,

Mexican tequila, Russian vodka and of course

American Beer.

An international ocean of liquor and bad decisions,

My stomach. 

It is a battlefield but it feels like a graveyard.

Those last 2 shots of Jagermeister were unnecessary,

now they will be the trigger for the nuclear reaction

that will end the battle. 

I lay on my bedroom floor, 3 feet away from my bed

awaiting for the winner of this war.

The loser will have to evacuate my insides 

and the like a good host, I will show them the way out.

As they battle I can feel the strikes of the battle

piercing and tearing me apart. 

All of the sudden like a paralyzed man 

that has regain the ability to walk.

I spring up from the floor

I rush to the bathroom as it appears

we have the outcome of the battle. 

I feel the loser rushing up my throat 

I barely make it on time.

As I spit the loser out of me and into the bathroom

I hold for dear life to this porcelain goddess.

My feet go up on the air

like a demon is being exorcise out of my body. 

I know I  should look but I refuse to flush

without seeing the loser. 

In this cheese and bread disaster,

In this chili con carne and tuna massacre 

I see the result; An  Alliance.

The nachos and tuna combined forces

to escaped that desolated and damage environment 

I called my body. 

I wash my mouth looking for any remaining  "corpses" .

My kitchen floor feels cold, I'm still missing a sock. 

My eyes are barely open but I can see its shine.

I open the fridge and see the last beer

It's my roommates's, Should I?

Fuck it, It's only Monday

Let's get ready for battle.