Dropout

A snapshot of nightlife in the U.K, with all it's trials and tribulations. Winner of the Cynthia Martin Cup for Creative Writing. 

Tug of the hoodie, up and at 'em lad
This is a setback; night's still younger than us
So huddle for the cuddle, three quick clicks and it's done
Red eyes removed at the touch of a button

I'm tumbling homeward, sweaty palms clenching the bottle
As the world spins faster than I can take it.
Off the ride, face down, hard ground (he's out for the count once more)
The phrase 'utter disgrace' loops the brain

Wheelchair legs finally go as he's kicked
to the curb, soft and embracing to this
booze hound clown who never had his day;
Pack up your show, light's down and it's over, pass it along

To the furious youths, their shatter bands breaking
the glass I stand on, left me ripped to ribbons on the pavement
The pain is excruciating; cast iron guts
melted down for scrap

Twenty pack cancer burns a hole in the pocket
but who cares? Numb tongue on tap
had me going unto the breach once more, hit the floor,
this T-shirt is ruined.

Remember your name son?
It's all gone blank
Torch to the eyeballs, but nobody is home
Keep walking sir, there's nothing to see.