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one more overused synapse
stopped at the most inconvenient time
i sit here deflated
wondering if i might have enough air
to avoid sinking in your tears
they come thick these days
but you can’t take this personal
it’s only physical
i’ve forgotten what emotion tastes like
afterall the whiskey strips my tongue
and everything just smells like water
not the salty kind either
****
i sound like that college kid
who wants to write like Bukowski
but couldn’t tell the difference
between blood and ketchup
if they both coughed up
on the same blank page
and judging by the way
you still stick around after all your tears
i think i might be better off
if i just go back to school to finish my degree
and get a real job to support a real family
because being drunk and cynical all the time
is hard work
not to mention every time i try
to bleed out real poetry
it just comes out like ketchup
so i guess i’m faking it
just like you did last night
and who knows maybe
every other night
and everyone else who says
they just want to be happy




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