I've got the will to drive myself sleepless

for two days [48 hours], the ratio broke down like this;
number of hours slept: 5:48
number of hours spent drinking: 19:48
number of hours at work: 13:48
Number of hours unaccounted for: 11:48
I'm breaking this down in my head as I walk outside on the hot hot sunday morning paying dearfully for my inhibitions, vices and decadence. I'm going to get breakfast, with coffee, and look at green trees in yellow light under a blue sky.
There was the bar, there was the house, there was the apartment and roof deck and room with a blue light. There was center city framed with candles and a chair with leftover rain water. A bottle of wine being passed around. The warmth inside, away from the chilly spring night. A cobalt blue morning painted it's way slowly across the eastern sky and I could see down the street to the river front. The newspaper delievery trucks have always been a sad sight. As if they're crying; "the world must go on, and here is your sobering proof,"
I watch them slam bundles of paper onto the sleeping concrete.
Wanting to turn around, and somehow, retracing my path, reverse time with each step to start it all over.
Let's do it all again
there's much more to drink
much more to say
much more to believe in
another morning to watch
another night to hold onto
until it's done again,
and again
and again
then I wake up hungover, and angry that time never listens to my pleas.