The wisps of smoke in the air,
the hazy vision from the short-lived high.

The cheap thrills on the road to nowhere,
drunk off stolen ***** from the cupboard of your house.

The pulse of your heart in beat with the music,
the remedy of your depression coursing through your veins.

The unfeigned laughter and guileless smiles,
this is what it means to be part of the misguided youth.

i fell

against the floorboard–

cold and hard–

that is you

(she was there and everywhere,

the sun peaking through the clouds,
and salty beach waves at noon time.

warm beer and burnt cigarettes,
red wine at breakfast.

the smell of new comic books,
and ink splattered on the table top.

watercolors and ripped paper,
shades and hues—weaving, fading.

all at once and gone again)

I have come
To a standstill
A point in time
When the *****
Running down
My throat suddenly
Tastes a lot
Like love
Like beauty
Like lust

the farthest
from home
I’ll ever be.

how many emptied cups of coffee?

how many crumpled papers littering around?

how many broken bottles of beer?

how many cigarette stubs flattened on the ground?

how many stonewashed mornings?

how many sleepless nights, empty and dull?

how many will it take to forget you?

tell me, how many?