And All Continues On Poem by Bryan Bukowski

Have been drinking now for months, though the weeks can't tell apart.
Abandoned sleep, sour heads, a haze and confusion.

It doesn't feel like morning, yet the light is burning at the curtains.
The bleaching sun conflicts with this body's visual stench.

Aching eyes and the yawns before midday grating bones.
Pathetic attempts pushing for more than shallow thought
though abstracted and muddled by lack of continuity.

This morning could be days ago, and last night will be tomorrow.
There is no mercy as these days repeat. And all continues on.