I’m the man humming to himself in the corner.
The one you will not notice,
until ten years down the road
when it’s last call,
and the dance floor has begun to clear.

When you are left all alone.

                                But that is fine,
                                                           I honestly don’t mind.

   I have a flask in my pocket and the taste of trouble on my lips.

I do enjoy dancing now and then, but never mind going home alone.
Sometimes it is preferred.

You will walk up to me
    and timidly ask
                              through drunken words
            for my hand to dance.

I will smile and answer,

“No.”

Then I will softly brush away the tear running down your cheek
and leave you to drown
under all the bridges you have burned.