Sober and the Drunkard

I drink until I drop While he cheats and get a drop (drop- STI) Where bottles are emptied I am found Find him where condoms are filled And zipped are undone I drink, flirt and blackout While he bumps, grind and passout Weekends I watch football While he figures out as to whom to empty his ball Social networks are his strong hold Whilst mine is to grab the cold My lies are easily detectable His are barely discernible The point here is that, there is absolutely No point to be made Just an inebriated poet With a biro.