Clutching the very thing that destroys you
Pouring your soul down the gutter
Illusions fester upon your heart
As alcohol speaks its own language
Bottles upon bottles shattering our smiles
As glassy splints muffle our beckoning cries
If only your flesh were more of a necessity
Not the fading tales of branded cider.
I could not tell your heart in a crowd of yesterdays
For maybe it’s you I have never known.
February 2011.