falling off the barstools again

i stole this pen from

his apartment

the night the bars

wouldn’t serve me

champagne

or

whiskey

but i see

this future

crumbling

beneath my feet

he asked me

what do you do?

i replied

i drink

and

sometimes

after i do that

i write

black eyes

and goodbyes

but he says

it is beautiful

the spacing

has changed

but the heartache

measures the same

i took stock of my life

of my romantic musings

and realized

that for the first time

i had found myself

alone

the emptiness

engulfed me

so i opened

his favorite beer

and took a swig

at 8:30

in the morning

thinking of the

twenty in my pocket

and the day’s first cigarette

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