Everything is Gone. Minus the Whiskey.

deadhorse

The morning after a drinking binge
She tells me,
“You’re an idiot.” And. “You’re a piece of shit.”
I won’t lose sleep.
I’ll give up some ink, though
To remind myself about the beauty of loss.

It’s charming to lose her because of drink.

I grab my sweatshirt off the floor
Her perfume remains on the cotton.
But that will go away with the memories.

It’s charming to lose her because of drink.

Again,
She calls me annoying.
I taste her words
And the whiskey
And the roses I torched.

We’ll meet again.
She’ll be with him.
I’ll have fucked
Her
And her and her. (For the sake of brevity)

We’ll see each other across the room,
Avoiding eye contact,
But sill aware of the other’s presence
Like cuts across the wrist.

We might even talk.
She’ll say
“I am doing great.”
And I’ll smile and nod
Because that’s how small talk works,
As a way to smother the important things.

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