Poison and Napkin

The first time I had been blue, I remember, Sitting at the bar, With the attention of that one person behind it, Only.. And nobody else. I wrote my first song. Gulping down chilled poison, And lurking the shallow crowd The smell of beer, The smoke, The intoxication beyond reasoning, Hovering in the humid air like an unscrupulous dream, I found my poison dripping from my fingers, Painting the napkin, Which he gave me with a sweet smile.. The checkered shirt that I wore, Displayed its dismay, like a lost set of wires Didn't know where to connect.. My jeans, flaunted skin..and a scar Through the notched denim, By a jut, of one fine forgetful furniture.. And, i wanted to get rid of everything, The blues, the rues, The parasitic clothes, in the heat of the night The shoes cried 'RUN! RUN!' Were my favourites, So not them...sweethearts! The clock danced its way with the crowd, Soon the tables and the chairs Rebelled for scattering them like lemon seeds On the busy kitchen floor, And it was my poison, being poured Into the napkin, And into the glass By that one person behind the bar, Whose attention I had, Only... For one last time, As after that, With that same sweet smile, He handed me the bill..!