I know what you mean.
It seems my waking thoughts
As well as my supposed home
Are littered with reminders.
The dull glint of brass across the floor,
Shelves littered with empty bottles.
When the silver fled
I turned to liquor and smoke
To drown my sorrow
In bourbon and tar.
I couldn't afford to
Touch up the chrome,
So I washed it out,
Leaving no trace.
I imagine if I'd
Started with bourbon.
I doubt I would have ever
Given Silver a chance.