Cringin Poem by Mark Swaine

I few seconds pass when I wake up in the same clothes.
I feel dead and I don’t know why,
But a little bit of dread.
This the way it goes as the pain,
Goes straight to my head,
I’ve no recollection,
Of anything I said.

My shrunken brain tells me,
I’ve had too many bottles
Of ice cold amnesia,
So all day,
I’m just gonna tease ya.
Steps and other obstacles,
All put money,
On who’ll be the first,
To put me down.
I vaguely remember doing my best,
To hold myself up,
The girl I was with looking over me,
Knowing I’m lost in Red Town.

I realise in the morning,
Running my nails,
Across my face,
I cringe in disbelief,
I stagger to McDonalds,
For my hangover cure,
A coke filled with ice
And a hand full of beef.

Deaths door is open all hours,
I’d rather eat nettles,
Than hear screaming kettles.
I’d leap from one tower to the next,
Just to clear my head,
And my room is a yo-yo,
that won't let me stay in bed.

The struggle doesn’t last,
But while it’s there,
I wish it would pass.

I remember the kebab,
Was like eating a chore,
I don’t know how long,
That Springa -Spaniel was
Licking my face for,
I wonder how many times
That old lady hit me
On the head with the end of that brush,
Before I woke up outside her door.
I arise disgracefully in a different dimension,
I look around and realise,
I’m also on the wrong floor.

I look around then at the angry old lady,
confused and rough I made apologies shameful and long,
Summers been fun but seems pretty wrong.
I’m washed out and pale again,
As I try to recover to a feel good song.

I feel rough,
My tea’s shaking in its cup,
I still cringe the day after that,
When I wake up.