I see you,
wrapping your tongue in Camel smoke.
And a little too good looking,
to be this alone and blasé.
I feel you,
Corroding in your handsome art.
Because one pretty smile left you high and dry,
with that moonshine, blue funk crease
Just between your eyes.
So you changed;
A poison waiting to be drunk.
Charming-as-hell curse words,
vapid dry wit and anti-chart topper remarks.
But who really cares,
We’re all just drinking to be drunk.
Dance a while for Dutch courage,
then yell over deep base strobe,
with a half numbed-brain.
That I think you’re secretly dying,
in those perfect comatose grins
And that I’m sorry you’re being seduced,
by a cajoling cliché.
But that you should probably just suck it up.
And tomorrow I will see you,
silver spoon feeding yourself
with your low-GI, high-in-fiber breakfast;
the quintessential contented.
I’ll realize that all my words
were just half-cut on lazer lights and late nights,
equating to “Shit-I-said-that” stomach turns,
and now sounding so stupidly poetical.
So, I will pretend this vodka-infused conversation just never happened.