trying to make it home

IMG20170731154312.jpgI could see she was exhausted,

as I took a drag from my cigarette

with a half-glass of cheap whiskey

in my other hand

ready for immediate consumption.  

She wanted to know where home was.

She wanted to know when she’d be there.

I peered at buildings and


and water

through the caged window

knowing that I couldn’t give her the answer

she desired.

I could only simply reply,

“when you’re with me,

you are home.”

I’m not sure she comprehended my sentence

since we were both drowning in our sorrow,

but I managed to steal one more kiss from

her – she always tasted like my soul mate;

fermented, tobacco coated, with an aftertaste

of codeine.  Hopeless,  

I fell asleep with my eyes open,

and like any soul mate would do,

she happily joined.


you only have this moment

“he was taken from us too soon”
will never be uttered
by anyone at my wake.
“he lived a full and fantastic life”
will be the only words you’ll hear,
except, maybe,
“i’m surprised he lived this long”
but either way,
thinking about it makes me smile.
i kinda think death is scared of me.