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

people

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.

-JDR-

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.
-JDR-