It is 1am
And I am a combination
Of alcohol and thoughts
Too many words and heavy eyelids
I stand at bar
With drink in loose hands
As some attempt conversation
And I
Smile quietly
With vacant eyes
Because there are plenty of people
In this room
That could fill this empty capacity
Put end
To this gap of desolation expanding inside of me
There are plenty
Who I could find momentary comfort in
Possibly even more
But I
Am too blocked off
To call myself open
Too shut down
To even listen to small talk
Or friendly dialogue
The truth is
I am too hung up
On distance
And romance that is more than likely
To never work out
To be able to make the effort
To love someone other than taken
I am so good
At setting my heart on situations
That have been set long before my prescence
I am skilled
At attempting to love person already satisfied
I will never be neccesity
Only drunken shell of girl
Searching through a sea of bodies
For someone who is not there
For someone who will probably never be there
This routine
Of bourbon and late nights
Of strangers and recurrent introductions
Will continue with frequency
But I
Will remain
Unfulfilled
It is 1am
And I am
Still hoping for something
That is perpetually
Unattainable.