‘Another shot, please’

​Eight Tequila shots later 

I am still tripping over the thought of her, 

while I can’t even remember 

my own fucking name

And good vibes fade away. 

I’ve never been good 

At solving my problems 

I guess it has something to do

With all the times they left;

My parents went away 

My soul crashed her way 

My lover found someone else 

But alcohol keeps sending its address. 

I drown my pain 

In this pen 

And eleven shots away 

I keep tormenting myself

With the same thoughts 

About the same lost. 

And even if it tears myself 

From the inside 

I keep remembering her name 

And her warm side, 

As I’m freezing to death 

She’s still in my head 

And I’ll drink this wine 

Until you get out of this place

I like to call my prison cell.