Fuddle

I drink, I drink, I fuddle

Bottle after bottle after bottle

My brain afloat and on its own

its contents like a muddy puddle.

I sleep, I sleep, I fuddled

My heart is pounding in my chest

My stomach roaring like a sewer

its contents like a muddy puddled

I yawn, I stretch, my god, that fuddle

My tongue feels trodden like a path

My muscles ache, my head is banging

... where are my bloody sunglasses?

- Navarth