I don’t know why we keep doing this

you ask me to hold you but you smell of cheap booze and perfume you can’t afford

the scent lingers when your laugh and lick your cherry lips

you wrap your hands around me, and smile like i don’t see the lines you hide under your sleeve

those fingers of yours, delicate like a pianist but they only ever played in minor key

but you didn’t like the piano anymore and soon every symphony was written on your wrists

drink with me, you say, and you pass me the same lousy beer teenagers buy from 7–11

you tell me maybe there’s a ring at the bottom of the can, and i’ll marry you

we’ll have kids, and we’ll build a little home together

so i drink and i drink, but there’s nothing at the bottom

maybe i’m too far gone to remember what i was looking for

they drink to forget but we drink to remember don’t we

each memory snaps into focus like that crappy kids camera that just cycled through the same few photos

click, a fever dream that’s barely real

click, a song you played for me

click, my jacket you wore for the longest time

the tin can rolls across the asphalt; we used to squash those flat to play kickball as kids

but to hell with rose tinted glasses right?

yet all i can taste in my mouth is a cocktail of cherry lipstick, blood and booze

nothing tasted better