Another mental merry-go-round, we are going in circles again
We will reach daylight before a resolution my friend
A Rolodex of instant-regrets fumbles in your work-station mind
An array of cheap liquor to turn to, your excuse to overanalyze
Here we are, stranded at what-if central, I’m searching for a way out
You loathed every detour, possibility or clear route
Give me some space, you’d say, as you grasped the glass neck of your kryptonite
How your eyes fogged, fluttered, floated, like buoys in the night
As you filled yourself to the brim of your favorite served chilled or room temp
I felt parts of myself drain, dry up, guilty to serve your wet brain once again