It's Always Like This
It’s Always Like This
Empty stool
in that
sleazy bar
I go to
too often.
I leave
smelling like
stale beer
dead cigarettes
whiff of vomit
with anyone
I don’t know
from
anywhere
or his name.
You were
I was
no different.
Why even
imagine what
might be possible?
Four floors
eight flights
top of the
stairs
dirty green walls
two-burner
in the closet
mattress on the
floor
a window
above the bed.
Yes, there’s stars
but that’s
too romantic for
crazy drunk sex.
You’re gone
when we’re done.
Same old ending.
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