Hangover…

Hangover…

Here you are again,

up before me.

Waiting to pounce,

the second I open my eyes.

You’ll want breakfast no doubt.

I’ll have to make it.

You will be busy having a roller disco.

In my head.

And playing on a bouncy castle.

In my stomach.

Only you likes black pudding,

yet you force me to eat it.

Along with sixteen hash browns.

And three fried eggs.

Eleventy nine sausages,

crispy bacon,

mushrooms galore.

No beans though,

not on a cooked breakfast.

You’re not a philistine.

Or a maniac.

My undivided attention will be demanded,

you won’t let me hide.

You’ll follow me everywhere.

To the toilet.

Back to bed.

The toilet again.

A quick trip to the fridge for snacks.

The sofa.

Bed.

I’ll be exhausted,

but you won’t let me sleep.

You’ll stay three days,

just to rub it in.

I’ll swear never to drink again.

You’ll laugh.

Say you’ve heard it all before,

that you’ll be back next week.

To do it all over again…

🥺

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