What One Thinks When They Drink Alone Poem by Not Long Left

The workers stream in through the door:
First drink of the day
washes away
the weekly blues,
blurring emails,
muting target talk.
Second
loosens the restrained tounge
they begin to have a little fun.
Third
tips the balanced bottle
as they head full throttle
towards release.
Fourth frees
them from thier shackles
as they cackle
like witches on whizz.
Fifth carries them into oblivion
where they hang from the pavillion
dangerously dangling
above the sea of regret.