I really shouldn’t drink ðŸ·ðŸ·ðŸ·ðŸ·ðŸ·ðŸ·

An ode should try to make you smile, to make you stop and think a while.

Should help you see the mirth produced, oh hark at me, I’m halfway juiced!

Red wine from somewhere French I see, my forth or fifth, well let me see!

‘Bordeaux!’ it tells me on the label, another glass is on the table.
Shall I continue to get pissed? Another birthday could be missed!

I-tunes plays my favourite song, back in the day, You can’t go wrong!

The Mode Depeche blasts from my Mac, I wonder when my neighbours’ back?

I’ll raise the volume just a tad, if they were home, I would feel sad.
As Christmas rears its ugly mug, I think of arseholes feeling smug!

No worries of the future they, but smugditude I’ll have them pay.

Myself, I’ve added to this life, of servitude and conscious strife,

Dictators all, with no discourse , they squander wealth but which is worse?
Don’t get me wrong, if chance pops by, who would refuse? I know not I,

Remember where we once came from, and tolerate where we belong.

The bottom of this glass I see, through riches earned by chance, not me! 

So read your life and stand with pride, upon your back the leeches ride.
It’s not about the path you walk, nor feigning pity when you talk,

Think only of this life you lead, not once about the things folk NEED.

If fortune finds you wanting more, please let St. Peter point the door! 

My words digress into my wine, but soulless ghosts attest what’s mine.
This night drags on my glass descends, on line I chat to all my friends,

No one to hold and say goodnight, so by myself I tend to fight.

These demons lust abound my soul, to be at peace my final goal.

No more to charge into my dreams, they’re all I have, or so it seems.
I write my thoughts to all who reads, I write my loves, my wants my needs.

I write those words that hide away, I write those things I cannot say.

The clock strikes late, my day is done, have I been good? I ask no one.

My eyesight blurs ! the wine I stop. To post this ode, or let it drop?

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