His eyes a blurry lens, spiraling...trying to focus on the road.
His head swaying back and forth, up and down like the bobble head on his dashboard.
Feeling so sick, but needing another drink,
a dizzy hand struggles to find the cup holder.

Grasping the almost empty bud light,
he puts the can to his mouth and takes the last swig, only to let it dribble out of his mouth and down his bare chest.

It felt good an hour ago, before he'd reached total intoxication.
But now with every throbbing pulse behind his temples, the road narrows.
The car is shrinking, and he is swelling, everything is blurry,
Like a pair of glasses rubbed in Vaseline.
The next thing he knows, the sun is blinding him; but how could that be?
Its four in the morning. Then...it all goes black.
Now he sits, sober at last.
Hunched over a tear-stained paper,
the hundreth he has looked at today.
Searching for another way to say,
Im sorry I killed your child.