Save, don’t save, cancel.
What do you want from me now?
I hate this late night bullshit
Where I stare at your pictures,
constantly checking my phone
in case you say something profound,
more important, or even validate me
and my drunken pride. Moreover,
I wish I had the strength to say fuck you,
but I’ve had too many shots, too many
weaving moments between lines, head
out the window, to see in between, maybe
I can go straight now, without you, what’s
the point of being fucked up?
She threw dice, he laughed,
no luck, hey ace?
You’ve left me to become a cocktail
waitress at a convention hotel again,
you were the one who said, can’t we
I slip the napkin under
the glass, fuck you too.