With my hands in my pockets,
And my heart on the floor.
My brain five miles behind,
Feeding me words,
That lack value anymore.
My love is astoundingly generic,
or so I believed this is what she said.
With nothing new to add to the
mix, I drink till my liver feels dead.
As I awake the next morning,
not sure how I got home.
With yesterdays words and memories returning,
I remember that I am now alone.