I'm A Secret Binge-Thinker

I'm a secret binge-thinker,
And seemingly,
One of an ever-increasing number in Britain,
Which is now,
According to the mid-brow papers,
In the unrelenting grip,
Of a chronic binge-thinking epidemic.

I started to secretly binge-think about one year ago,
I had to grab a short binge-think,
Before I could face work in the morning,
And, now, it's got so bad,
I must grab a secret binge-think at my desk.

No, I don't think any one's noticed,
Not yet - thank God,
But it's only a matter of time isn't it?

Do you think they'd understand?
No.
I'd lose my job in an instant,
With my discombobulated, thunk,
Head in my hands.
I'm not proud to be a serious binge-thinker,
But what can I do?

I don't even enjoy binge-thinking anymore,
It's definitely not a pleasure, it's a chore..

I sometimes think neat,
On the rocks,
By the sea,
Or sometimes with a bit of cheese.

And it's not unusual now,
For me to mix up my binge-thinks,
I've awoken so many times,
Sprawled, brain-mashed by the library fountain,
And,
Three times now,
The police,
Have charged me with thunk disorderliness,
It means I now have a record.

And, yes, I know,
That if I carry on binge-thinking like this,
I may die..