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
