I take your money for a smile. It is genuine but fades after a while. Reality sets in.
I take another hit, but it’s never enough, a sip for the buzz, might be too much.
Stuck on a track, busy looking back, not seeing what’s in front of me.
Always stepping in it.
Not getting in your car. You’ve made that clear. I miss you.
Guilt sets in with a bottle of gin, and a whiskey or two behind me.
I seek clarity for what I’ve done. But I don’t like the view.
Lose myself in someone else, and the rattle of their noise box.
Lost in words that seem absurd to the ill-equipped to handle.
Get a battery phone, you can’t leave it alone, but here’s a chip in your shoulder that can’t be fixed.
If you build up the walls 12-foot tool you’ll miss what’s on the horizon.