the quiet peace that comes
from drinking until you can't climb into bed
is a momentary comfort
as fleeting as it is soothing

city rolls quietly by at its always audible hum
as i stumble down the hallway and attempt
albeit poorly
to get myself prepared for fitful slumber
that wall wasn't there a minute ago
fuck
fuck
where is my toothbrush
fuck it

across the hallway is my destination
and i fall into it
like the dream i won't remember
or the love that won't last

the first time i ever worked at a bar
we had a customer who drank the dinner hours
until phone calls from hungry family began
summoned by responsibility
begrudged by some unknown wrong
weighed on by life

he would never take the call, rather wave silently
when the phone started ringing
and begin to gather his things
always tossing a half hearted "evenin"
over his shoulder as his last tip

off into the world
that saddened him
and weighed him down
to the people that loved him
or at least, the people who needed him around
off to kill some hapless bastard driving buzzed
off to die in his sleep and save him
the burden of having to return to that
hell hole of a bar he wasted his relaxation on

his quiet desperation burned into me
keeps me on my toes
and off my rocker
the drink won't save you
but it'll dull the pain
and your people don't know you
and you're alone
and you're tired
and you need to go home

its dinner time