This place is called a bedroom
But I hardly sleep anymore
Unless you consider sleep
Face down passed out onto the floor
I've been so claustrophobic lately
Seems everyone I know just hates me
Everyone I know, except the bottle

It's like a calling from an old friend
Asking to relive better days again
A time when the world doesn't seem so dark
When you think you're an expert with words
Because they all seem to come out without effort
Then you're addicted, and that's when you start to hurt

Empty bottles spread the carpet
Drunken slurs whisper "stop it"
Body odors, left untended
Check the calendar, your live has ended
No more concern for social acts
Alone in dark rooms watching days go past
Composed of bitter and hopeless opinion
The bottle is the army, you are just its minion

And it's never going to end
You'll never smile again
A horror story, all fiction
Thanks to an addiction
 
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