The room is still spinning, the ceiling won’t stay,
Duncan’s eggnog is haunting me the next day.
I burp and it smells of blue, somehow worse than it sounds,
Regret doing laps while my head pounds around.
Nausea’s set up camp, pitched a tent in my chest,
Dizziness waves like an uninvited guest.
Light’s far too loud, every noise is a crime,
Even breathing feels slightly out of time.
My stomach’s rebelling, my balance is gone,
I swear the floor’s moving—no, hang on… it is wrong.
Memories drip back in awkward slow motion,
Eggnog confidence, terrible devotion.
Maude’s in the kitchen, making breakfast with cheer,
Frying things loudly, far too sincere.
The smell hits my soul, I groan in despair,
Hungover survival? I’m not sure I’m there.