The Pecking Order

In the dark indie disco
With drinks underfoot.
Strewn bargain ciders,
Mingled beers and shots

Stick to my shoes as the
Strobe lights surround,
When I see you dancing,
What a sight to behold.

One hand on his arse
As you grope and revolve,
While belting out lyrics
To Killers and Strokes.

I move up and smile,
Shout my hello,
As you smile back,
Stick your tongue down his throat.

Turning back slowly,
I can't quite believe
That only this morning
You were in bed with me.

Friend zone to end zone
And no room in between.
Ignore me or shag me,
There's no room to speak.

Perhaps it's my own fault,
Thinking it was more.
But after the wine, the snake-bites
Two pound mixers and bombs,

I seem to have numbed
My ability to care.
So I look around dazed
And see who else is there.

There's Lucy from my course,
Over by the bar,
And in the dim half light
She looks rather fair.

Striking up conversation sedated
Is no easy feat,
But within half an hour
We're getting off in the street.

And turning I look at the
Walls, of the old indie disco,
I sigh, as Mr Brightside
Thumps through the ground.

The aches and the pain
Of drunken misspent youth,
A crushing knowledge
That sickens and delights.
As I know that in just a few days.
This will all
Happen again.