Sometimes one utterance at a stop sign is enough to form a friendship. Drunk talking about alcohol is just a reminder of the poison searing through our own veins. There were three birthdays in one night, beer bongs in a bathtub, nuns on the walls, and Jewish boys in foreign beds. Sirens tried to scream louder than the oncoming trains. Someone etched the name Billy into the wall and I have to wonder if it was a signature or a memorial. All that remains is a room full of satisfied silence. Our contained blood is as blue as the tip of every flame. The bus’s florescent lighting becomes a strobe and every word uttered is fair game. I get home just to pace by my bed, singing along to discs that try to understand.  The morning light will tuck me into bed.

Good morning Good Night and Good Riddance