I miss that couch, with my spot, and those days that I lost myself and plans; forgot

Absinthe on the Friday night's, my girls were there frozen in time.
I came home to coldness, creaking to put back sad feelings. Walls and lack of care on them, holding in all that I was, at that time. Where did my ambitions go in those days,

Was that happiness? I remember yearning so, but in different ways.

I am a cowboy, gray, at a stool in a smoky bar, in the corner, in my mind, watching movies through whiskey, I don't have a horse outside and my cigarettes take batteries, but the feeling is there, the lacking is there, the eyes are the same. I'm glad for distractions, they beset the grief that I remind myself I'm not.

They take me to a place where just a bit more effort might make me what I'm not.