The end of 26

One glass.
Three.
Seven too many.
Four steps.
Fall.
Feeling small.
Can't count to ten.
Can't say when
I'll be home again.
Long told tales of
Big city dreams.
I don't know what they mean.
Forgotten footprints
Of clouded progress
And untold knowledge.
Same as always.
I feel lost.
Can't seem to grasp a thought.
But I'm solid as ever.
I'm incredibly clever.
Just lacking my own place
To rest for a second.
Without feeling anxious.
I can see to ten
But I can't count.
Words and numbers blur.
Plans and goals slur
Together like music
And delicately broken phrases.
Like a day in fall
Of street likes and sound.
Visualizing and hearing
Without the ability to steer.
I'm floating.
Not falling.