His eyes were blood-shot and dull
his hair unwashed
two days worth of ****** hair
framed his jaw,
in his hand was a half empty bottle
of whiskey

the wind howled through the pine
trees outside his dusty window,
barely blocking out the noise
of the highway

he looked at the overflowing trash can
wrinkling his nose distastefully at the smell
and then at the empty bed

closing his eyes, he raised the bottle of whiskey to his lips
and savoured the fire that blossomed in his stomach.
He rose on shaky knees and walked over to the bed,
falling back
and stared vacant-eyed at the patterns in
the cracks of the white plaster ceiling.