He could pack his whole life into a guitar case
because there was no guitar in it.

I was there on the day it broke -
smashed against the wall
all wood and pointless strings
destroyed like forgotten dreams.

The bottle of whiskey on the dresser
was the only thing that made it real
the bottles cool touch
to sooth the burn as he drank it
hot and cold - familiar turmoil.

I sat on his bed
wearing only his jumper,
it smelled like an ashtray
that was gifted with him

He saw straight through me
the world now a different place
It's harshness had peaked
and life a disgrace

So he made a quick rollie
and packed up his life
walked straight from that room
and away from his life.