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My eyes are glazed propaganda machines
Telling me everything's great
Telling me she's perfect
Making me stay out too late
But I know what's true
And I know what's mine
I know her type
And I know the time
And I'm tired of having to figure this out alone
And I'm drunk so I'm going home.
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Your first line is a really great line. Very straightforward and simple poem that has meaning. My only concern is that the narrator says he's drunk, but he seems to have a lot of clarity about him at the moment; but then again, it's like a duality or irony or something of the sort. It even seems like it could be a good sonnet if you flush it out into fourteen lines.
