Headsplitting short term memory's
back to stay.
Or at least it's goin' away.
Tomorrow.
Booze laced headtrip,
stop and take a sip,
off the tip,
of the bottle,
let it drip,
let it rip,
a new hole in my now empty
pocket,
busted gut,
So I can forget,
discard,
imaginary pictures
of you
and me
and us
and plus,
recall, events
and things
and faces and places and names;
minute details.
I can't,
it's all hazy
like the weather.
I'm a feather,
free, light, lost.
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