it is 3 am
and another night
has been lost
to another cigaretteyour only friend
is a bottle
who drowns out
your thoughts
and makes
forgetting
a little
bit
easierit is 4 am
and your pack is empty
your best friend is nowhere
to be seenit is 5 am
and you are ambushed
by your own mind
wracked with
memories
you tried
so hard
to forgetit is a little after dawn
when you finally
find sleep
passed out
in a bed
as messy as
your mind
Hands brush skin
With a delicacy
Careful not to break—
Soft enough to shatter.
Our tongues debauch words,
Slithering into half-bent ears
Only to meet the stillness
Of the air between slips of phrases.
But it is your eyes,
And how they fade
Into a gray I can believe in.
There was a fake brick wall
and a head full of dirt,
the smell of coffee beans
and a short black skirt,
some alcohol involved
with the music playing Kurt,
and some kisses on my brain
with the toxic taste of hurt.
