tossed back “a shot and a wash,”
when I texted a friend in New York,
saying nothing, saying everything,
wishing for rain on cheeks.
I've done bad things,
like drowning myself in rivers.
I ran up bar tabs and killed love,
all unpaid, un redeemed aside from in dreams.
facing forever with fire in my eyes,
a tired skull and a loose heart,
I am in the mood to make mistakes into more,
premium real estate somewhere souls go.
a green, healthy hitherto
has me helping old ladies across streets,
and cleaning my sheets
more than one or years in storage.
accept this, because I got nothing else,
maybe a boat to the throat,
and the feeling of feeling small,
so sell me up the mountain so I can grow bold.