Squeezed between friends
on a stool like a pedestal as
the night grows old,
the floor feels like it’s shrinking, like
I’m shrinking, wasting away and
wasted.
Perhaps this is how she felt,
lost among the ones she loves the most,
changed by the taste of hard liquor
that burns into brain.
Did you watch them pour the
drinks like I always
do? Or did you forget this once?
on a stool like a pedestal as
the night grows old,
the floor feels like it’s shrinking, like
I’m shrinking, wasting away and
wasted.
Perhaps this is how she felt,
lost among the ones she loves the most,
changed by the taste of hard liquor
that burns into brain.
Did you watch them pour the
drinks like I always
do? Or did you forget this once?
