Hallways : Hotel

I stagger, drunken, down this hall
I’ve no idea which is my room
For everywhere, things look the same
And in this state, I won’t presume

To know what I am doing; nor
To knock where strangers might abide:
I stagger, drunken, down this hall,
My mind on fire
And sleep
Denied

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Beleaguered Servant