A Drunk

Why do they say they’ll just have a few when they know there’s no way that statement is true. And they drink what’s offered then ask for more until all is gone, then in the morning they’re sore. Why do they say, no problem have we and yet they weave on their feet for all to see. Denials they make then go home alone and sometimes cry of their fate to their friends on the phone. Why do they put off paying the bills that are due when to drink them instead just puts them in a stew. And what of this promise to pay as they beg money to borrow when they know they won’t repay and they cause only sorrow. Why do they keep going to the parties of which they hear when not paying their share is what their friends fear. And why do they believe we really want them around when their true, stealing nature is finally found. Why are their cars so loud and their insurance not paid, so all they can afford is a junker to get laid. Who wants to hang with them while they seek to destroy, or suffer their depression while they act the killjoy. They know who they are, though it’s deep down in their soul, and they seldom admit it if they’re on a roll. A drunk is what they are, and seemingly meant to be, but oh my God is it true? Can this really be me?