You're a locked door with the sign 'do not enter,'
but there are duplicates of the key you lent out once.
The sky becomes a blanket, and the sun is no longer out;
and strangers come through the door -gone by morning.

There's only so much company that can be found in an empty bottle,
so you make it two empty bottles, and grab an empty hand
and dance under the flawed moon,
and like an hourglass fall slowly into familiarity
-by morning you're left with the same empty feeling
(and a terrible headache.)

They come waltzing in uninvited,
friends of the unconscious mind,
and enemies to the sober.

You're a locked door with the sign 'do not enter,'
if I was offered the key I would not take it.
I patiently knock.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)