what am i chasing,
really?

behind the smoke and the empty bottles,
behind the tears and the dried-up coughs
behind the life i know is leading me to ruin.

is it you?

or is it what you stand for,
the laughter on windy days,
the split-second hugs and the
sadness in my eyes you say you
feel sorry for.

and then there's the broken glass.
from last week on my bedroom floor.
after i threw an empty jack daniels bottle
at the wall in frustration.
and maybe a little pain.

metaphorical? perhaps.
tangible? perhaps.

but each time i reach out to
it all that answers me is
a bottle of pearls.