“Try to save face”
Was the only reply,
The only advice
I could squeeze
Outta that guy,
I told him the problem,
Explained it quite nice,
Only to receive
A verbal cowpie,

Which is better than
What I get from all others,
The lies that keep
Me dry under a cover
Of excuses piled high,
They keep me warm
And keep me from turning
Into the residue
That resides
On the shiny
Metal blade
That’s been sunk
Deep into my back
With a twist

Of lime like the drink
I toss back
As I slowly enact
My twenty year plan
To sit in this chair
With this scotch
In my hand
Until I leave
My bones and hair
In a pile
Of sand.