Not something I don’t know.
Because I’ve heard it all before
and still don’t see any of it.
You think those pieces will fit down my throat,
shove them down then.
As if I haven’t.
I’ll chase the remnants with
tonic and lime.
as it slithers down like gin.
In the morning, they will turn me
inside out. Claw their way up,
They leave me empty
I’ll watch them slip down the drain,
All the pieces that had seemed to fit
just the day before
slipping further from shaking hands,
for the moments they once fit.
Now they never will.