Comments Inbox
| |
About This Poem
It's Always Like This
Empty stool
in that
sleazy bar
I go to
too often.
I leave
smelling like
stale beer
dead cigarettes
a whiff of vomit
with anyone
I don’t know
from
anywhere
or his name.
You were
I am
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
window over the bed.
There’s stars
but that’s
too romantic for
crazy drunk sex.
You’re gone
when we’re done.
Same old ending.
|
|
|