Cracked Bottles of Drink and Leftover Scraps

Forcing my eyes open  
with no recollection,  
of where I am.  
Bottles of Johnny  
and JD.  
crash to the tiled floor  
as I drag myself  
off the couch.  
The crash,  
jolting me awake.  
 
The TV's still running
it's some repeat of becker
on TV1.
Foxtel ain't worth  
it's price.
Picking up a bottle
still a few drops of scotch
leftover bowls of vegetarian spaghetti,
set on the table.
 
Stumbling along,  
forearm against the wall  
I step on a crushed can of VB  
cheap piss..  
With a faltered gaze  
beginning to assess my  
surroundings, I'm at Quinn's place.  
I trip over the chuck bucket  
as i'm staggering to the sink,  
to wash my face clean.  
 
Thank Christ, I held my guts.  
as only water etches across the tiles  
Decent effort? I think so.  
With a crack of my neck  
I notice the clock's at 6.  
The sky outside tells me  
It's morning.  
Pretty damn hungry  
as I microwave
the leftover vegetarian spaghetti.
still sitting on the table.
Minute and a half should do it
makes a good brekkie.  
I think to myself  
Quinn's a damn good cook.  
 
I notice my wallet,  
keys and phone.  
Still on the lounge room  
table. Thank christ for that.  
Head still ringing..  
I wonder what I said.  
A sober man's thoughts,  
are a drunk man's words.  
As they  
so often say.