Always looking over his shoulder
Colder than cold
Improbable to do when all round you there are heady toasts going on
A famous rockstar brother; he far less than famous, face full of tears
Utterly unable to decipher between a crazed forest and the trees
All the harder amidst these constant cheers
Wondering all along if it had’ve been him would this be nothing right now only constant jeers
No time to think, digging his hobnail boots a little deeper, he turns to grapple his umpteenth beer
Glorious beads of the bottle mirroring all too shabbily the sanctimonious beads of sweat which pour unceremoniously down around his addled head
Deadweight as fate would have it

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