The Man at the Bar

I walked in and pulled myself up to the bar, The place was dingy and smelled like sour beer. The people all had that same stare, Inebriation wrinkles covered their faces. "Give me a scotch on the rocks," I yelled to the bartender, An old man who looked like a character who stepped out of the 40's. The ladies in the bar were few and far between, But those that were there were a sight to be seen. One had a face like a porcelain doll, But her eyes were cold and empty, like a bottomless hole. Another had a smile that could light up the room, But her laughter was forced, like a bird in a cage. As I sat there, nursing my drink, I couldn't help but feel like I was on the brink. Of what, I wasn't sure, But the feeling was there, and it was hard to ignore. The world outside seemed so far away, And I knew I couldn't stay, In this dingy bar, with its sour beer smell, And the people with their inebriation wrinkles. So I finished my drink, and I paid my tab, And I left the bar, feeling sad. For I knew that I was the man at the bar, And that my life had gone way too far. I stumbled out into the cold, dark night, Feeling lost and alone, with no end in sight. The stars above seemed to mock my pain, As I stumbled down the street, feeling insane. The world was a cruel and heartless place, And I was just another lost soul, with no saving grace. I stumbled and fell, and I couldn't get up, And I knew that I was destined to drink from life's bitter cup. So I lay there, in the cold and the dark, Feeling like I was being torn apart. And I knew that I was the man at the bar, And that my life had gone way too far.