Red eyes,
And a crooked smile,
Dirty clothes,
Haven't showered in a while.

Blaring music,
In my head,
Quite comfortable,
Like my bed.

My usual scene,
One to avoid,
Blinded myself,
And jumped into the void.

Wallowing at the bar,
I swore an oath,
They serve alcohol and drugs,
I do both.

Sat beside me,
A man, a skin of crimson,
Horn to boot,
Did I beckon Satan?

He said, "Do you want more, boy?"
Smile on his face,
"I will, sir, thank you."
What can I say?

Empty glasses,
More coming,
People dancing,
And more shouting.

I looked around the bar.
Everyone is wearing a costume.
Of course, it's Halloween,
And I'm dressed as a buffoon.

"Join me where it's hot," he said.
"I can give you more and more."
I don't like where this is going.
The drinks are becoming a chore.

The barkeep shows me my tab.
I start to sober up.
Hits me like a brick.
It was so abrupt.

I take a glance around the room.
A single costume I couldn't see.
But the crimson-skinned man,
Decked with horns, is still crimson with glee.

I am dressed still as a buffoon,
But no Halloween can it be.
It is the middle of December.
All substances come with their fee.

I tried to take one more sip.
Smell of a good double whiskey.
Someone invades my view.
White, smooth, and silky.

"Go home, my dear friend,"
That's what this person said.
"You're dancing with the wrong one."
I ran home with time to shed.

"I will not return," I vowed.
"I will never drink again."
I know that it is a lie.
So, my dear, until then.
© Myth