Another 8 hours
leaves me drained,
longing for days
living one paycheck
to the next,
microwave dinners
and dollar menus,
but owning days
and nights, spontanaety
dictating schedule,
filled with road-trips,
marathoned series,
countless hours devoured
in discussions, dark streets,
a lifestyle unacceptable
to a world of debt
and obligation.
Somehow,
I am always drawn back
to trace old scars,
memories of events
etched across skin
in pail lines, vague map
of past events, missing
entire continents
where wounds never
touched flesh.
I am an instrument
of entropy,
slowly decaying
those around me,
feeding on small miseries,
slow failings
of relationships,
institutions, everything
I touch moving
toward oblivion.
When I remember those nights
of reckless abandon,
there is whiskey, nicotine, & you.
Three vices that consumed
seven months, leaving me
hollowed and addicted,
alone, nursing a bottle
with my last cigarette
falling into ash.
