cigarette stains are stuck in my teeth.

I lower my yellowed hand as my withered fingers

pick up the next bottle.

it has a long thin neck,

and as I grasp it I desperately try to quench

this longing that won’t ever be satisfied.

not today, tomorrow, or in a year.

black tar awaits,

my lips at the depths of the brown glass.

this poison’s so much easier to swallow

than the water of pure reminiscence.

my mind’s itching, slowing down

I don’t even remember what color

your eyes were, or your face

it keeps distorting, lament of woe

until all I see is vhs blur.

I raise my hand back up and order another bottle.