I awake from a comatose sleep And glair at the blinking clock Over and over, flashing, 12:00 I guess in it's deformed mind Our time shall never move on Burn outs line my pre-baige carpet Not turned a dingy shade of grey Breathing in, what should be fresh Morning air I cough off a residue from a close friend Mary Jane Over in the corner a pile of Bud cans And on the cracked kitchen table A line of blow, still waiting to be enjoyed Burn outs Stoners Coke Heads I dodge their sleeping bodies On my way to the toilet Sitting on the cold porcelin, My nasty hangover and Me I drift back off again Only to reawaken mysteriously, to the aftermath And the constant blinking 12:00 My Gay Poetry
