eh.
ain't no one here
who'll listen to the lament of a lost boy.
bartender would rather put his ear
to the gurgle of jack
and the record player
that never works.

seems like i'm in here every night now.
used to be just fridays,
before alice left,
but now she's gone--
just up and moved away.

so now i'm cryin' into my whiskey,
and the salt from my tears
is mixin' with the alcohol,
but my granddad always said
that tears were the best booze.

to me it tastes sour,
but i take a sip anyway.

but hey.
maybe things aren't so bad.
now i can drink as much as i want
and stay out late
and drive drunk
and...
and...

ah, for christ's sake.
just who the hell am i kidding,
anyway?

05/12/2011

Posted on 05/18/2011
Copyright © 2024 Cole Atkinson