There’s Always a Reason.

the shadow is evading under my fingertips. the drunken night sweetens at the shriveled face of fireball and a light weight.

who’s left?

the vacant body of a woman leaning over the toilet of a hotel bathroom who’s heart left love and -

it didn’t leave

who’s heart changed -

it didn’t change

her heart was resorting to the now shattered whiskey bottles scattered across the wall and the ashes of what left her intellect tapered and forgetful in the darkest of nights