Rising from the haze of sleep,
As my ears still ache from yesterdays radiation,
I see the ground zero of my room,
Greasy pizza boxes and empty steins,
Stained carpets and a misplaced mattress,
A bomb site of booze and shame,
What happened?
What was the occasion?
To whom does this purple hair belong?
My mind fails to recall,
All that’s left are these blasted pizza boxes,
And a slideshow of maybes,
In a bloodshot minds eye.
WorldofHarley 