The lines are blurring, but he can't stop now.
He has a reputation.
He'll take anything he's passed,
Even if he can't pick himself up from the floor.
His words are slurring, but he can't stop now.
The room is spinning.
The furniture blends into the walls.
He hears "just say when", between laughing,
As his friend fills the cup.
He takes it, but he won't remember.
He won't remember anything.

Today, I went to church.
I haven't been here in a while.
Today, I stared, for what seemed like an eternity,
At the casket of the kid who couldn't "just say when".
Today, I watched, as his friends took turns blaming themselves.
I watched his mother collapse at the altar beside him.
I've never seen someone so broken.
No offered prayers or words of hope were enough to comfort her.
"Nothing will ever be enough", she said..
"Because nothing can bring him back."
Today...
Today, I said "when".