I remember thinking once
that the best nights
were ones you couldn't remember
Because in those moments you can't recall
you assumed you were having fun
And you remember laughing about spilled tequila
because you knew you didn't need anymore
But in the morning you would look at the bottle
and see liquor spilled across the carpet
and wonder why you found it so funny
Because now you've added more to the mess
that was already scattered across your floor
And the butterflies in your stomach
aren't warm and fuzzy like the night before
but a fire burning deep into your chest
And you hang your head in consternation
because you have no idea what you've done
And words of regret sit in your mouth
because it is too dry to form sentences to adequately describe your guilt
So I have come to find
that the nights you can't remember are desolate for a reason
To remember would send you into a perpetual state of hatred
if you weren't there already