Taste of the alcohol,
familiar smell,
runs down my throat again
without even so much
as a warning
to calm the swelling.
I'm not proud
of who I've been,
but I just wish
you'd be my friend.
This week just started,
but it already feels like it's
gotten an invitation from
an invading nation.
My wit's end is clearly
sat right in front of me,
oh, I hope that she
knows that I'm joking.
What of all these
awkward moments I have
with a girl who's just like me?
Are my realities
and feelings
totally lost on you?
Your disregard and hot apathy
aren't lost on me.
YOU ARE READING
This Gray, Unfortunate Place (2)
PoetryPoetry that straggles the heartstrings. (You don't have to have read the first book.)
