Eyes wide shut?

Fuck this, I think. Fuck this.
The carpet I'm walking on feels like chewing-gum, my heels reluctantly kissing goodbye, more veins on my legs saying hello. Everyone's skin is a little bit blue and the way we keep hugging ourselves, it makes us look what we are. Cold and lonely and like we're about to lose it any minute.
If anyone leaves their beer on the bar for long enough, cockroaches will crawl up the bottle and drown themselves.
My skin looks the way salami does, and I'm downing shot after shot of tequila, no lemon, no salt. I can afford the intimacy now. How everyone's face looks is sympathetic. We all pity each other. We all pity ourselves. And yet we're still here.
I know all the songs, in order of succession.
People walk in and it's making money time. Hustle hustle hustle until you're either too drunk or couldn't be bothered. Or both. This is all really frustrating. And yet I'm still here.
People walk around taking it all in. I guess this is what must have been like for Alice, falling down that rabbit hole.
And then it's all a fucking wonderland I only remember in flashes.
I'm beyond disgust and frustration and all I feel is like one big shrug. I tell myself I could be doing worse. I could be a junkie. I could be a whore. I could be a bum.
What I don't tell myself is I could be doing loads better. I could. I don't know. But it pisses me off too bad, that I've got no one to blame but myself and I generally choose to ignore this. Yea. I act very mature. Big whoop.
By the end of the night, I'm thinking This is what the pretty little white rabbit must have felt like. Lost. Late? I don't know. I don't think so. I don't know.
And yet I'm Still. Fucking. Here.