After the party

Pictures on the ground
Ripped by hands of hate
They look like confetti
The remains of a party
Where you got me drunk

A pile of dusty records
That I can’t play anymore
Music our lives used to dance on
Is a chain made of memories
Flouting any attempt to control

Hangover and the need
Of tiding up this mess
And of taking a pill or two
To try and dyke up the headache
And the tide of my regrets.