Suck My Fuck Clock

I don't want to get out of bed, ever. A drink is placed just out of reach, it forces me to crawl onto the floor and I grab the drink and suck it down like a prisoner turned into a starved rat. I look around, I look for another drink and find it, just a few feet away. I don't bother to get up, I just crawl to the next drink. The sun is out and I say "fuck you, sun" as I suck down the booze. I don't know if I have to go to work. I think I might...just have another drink and *poof* there it is, in front of the TV, using Voltaire as a coaster. I need to finish both of you...I think as I drag myself across the floor, pick up the drink and the book. The room is too bright, I only read in the dark, or in burning apartments and right now I have neither. I sense that there is a drink in the closet, I move toward it with book in hand. I open the closet door and there is the gold, the oil, the forget, the fuck you, the eat shit motherfucking drink. I get into the closet, sit beneath suits and winter coats and close the door. I suck the drink, and finally my brain is alive...yes, thoughts by way of death. Suffocating, cut off, alone, shrunken. I feel more alive now than I do on the bus, going to a fucking job.
In here I will escape and I will not go to work. Do I even have a job?