If You Party Like a Rockstar You Should Probably Have a Good Healthcare Provider

After the show the van

is packed like sardines.

The smell of cigarettes, sweat,

and booze render the nose a poor option.

Mouth Breathing is a much more logical.

Make haste the liquor store closes in 15!

After sliding 24 packs, large bottles,

and cartons of cigs

into the unclaimed orifices

like Tetris, we’re off. 

Chicks and a house party beckon

us onward. Our consciences offer an alternative.

We agree upon the former.

The night fades, as do those who have consumed too much for one evening.

Only those few, the proud, the degenerates

are still standing in the wake,

sipping from warm bottles,

fishing roaches left in overfull ashtrays.

The sunrise steals through the half broken blinds, shooting faint lasers

that reflect off the dark bottles and patented leather pants that lay by the couch.

Bodies entangled rise and fall with the heavy,

rough breathing of chain smokers.

With names unknown to each other they will most likely never meet

again after waking and the ceremonial what happened last night conversation.

Bad decisions aren’t always made by dumb people, just starry-eyed ones

with the idea that this is the best way to live burned into their world view by a culture that idolizes idiots.

This is our decision to life fast and die young, most likely of a disease that has something to do with our unhealthy habits of over indulgence or our inability to discern real from reality.