It's eight p.m.
My hand holds connection
to friends
car keys turn in the ignition
forty minutes
a few cigarettes
park in the dark
LA greets me
An hour later I'm tipsy
two days later I'm hungover
my left *** cheek bruised
no closer to nirvana
I just wanna forget Long Beach
here my reach outs get response
my lonely haunts turn into
songs
here I have company
that doesn't mind a stiff drink
a wild night
I think it's safe to say
I've gotten a new form
of
running
away