The Pissed Optimist

I’m holding a beer in my left hand,

And a cigarette is burning in my right.

It’s so dark and loud here,

Hundreds of people all stand within inches of one another,

I don’t know most of them,

And I don’t hope to either.

I’ve thought about leaving,

I promise.

It’s far too late now,

For anything good to happen,

I know that only too well,

Yet still here I reside.

In an hour the sun will begin rising,

How delightful that might be to see,

As it is each morning.

But I’ve had too much to drink now to appreciate its true beauty,

And the sun deserves more than that.

I think I will go home,

I should, shouldn’t I?

What reasons are there for staying?

As I set off towards the exit,

And the brightest decision I’ll make all day,

I halt.

What if tonight is to be the greatest night of my existence?

And I leave for home,

Before it has even started.

I understand clearly,

That the odds are stacked so heavily against this,

But what a shame it would be,

If it were to be so fine and I missed it.

So inevitably I turn,

And collect another beer from the bar,

I light another cigarette for my sins,

And the meaningless, nonsense chatter,

With all these forgettable individuals,

And drunks,

Continues.