It’s 2 a.m.
And the worst parts of me are out to play,
Eluding nightmare ridden sleep.
The memory of you haunts me
In every bitter shot of Tequila.
Your eyes, your lips, your hands
Burn down my throat.
Liquid fire holding me hostage
In the prison of
What could’ve been.
An old picture lays
Tattered at my naked feet,
Blazing cherry and copper
Alongside what little
You left of me.