Flush your sleeping pills despite your graveyard shift, and the caffeine from coffee that has soaked into your veins, like the people on **** you serve Dr. Pepper to with a smile at 4a.m. with their jerky, constant movements
2. Go to the field behind your apartment bring a tumbler of ***** and orange juice, two Miller high life's and a jacket talk to the moon scream that you're still apologizing, that you're not enough tell her you're tired and that you wish her well she will not respond, a wolf will howl in the distance.
3. Warn everyone that oil will not mix with water that she took your stability with her boxes of cardboard, filled with memories you made with her you have unstrung the laces between your teeth the phone rings; call ends immediately
4. Write this poem let her leave again let a storm untie her shoes ask a god you don't believe in if you will eventually get better a wolf will howl in response
5. Repeat.