Monday, October 15, 2012

The Glass Bottom IV

I wonder where the whiskey goes
after I wake up sober as the rush hour sun.
But I know it all went to my heart, hopeful.
Filling fissures forever for the night.
But never in my wake does the bottle
keep its face locked onto mine.
I'm a mime in a dungeon
of darkness and noise.
Alone, tortured and useless.
I hope you never have to try
to forget anything as hard
as I try to forget about you.

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