It is four in the morning.
Bourbon is beautiful
In the right glass.

No matter how many
Times you leave it is
Never enough.

Always one more to run from.

There are none left to go to.

It is four in the morning.
The past has gone.

I am writing this
Right now.

I am writing this from
The void of current life.

This too shall pass.

This art. And it can fail.