Why?

Cigarettes filling the air

Ash lying on the tables and the floor;

it’s everywhere

Drinks standing on an old weak shelf

Booze filled shot glasses,

I count twelve.

Wine in my hair,

on my clothes,

why do I have to care,

about that?

Tequila in shattered bottles

Vodka poured down onto the wooden tables.

Why would I waste my stupid time

for a poor and dirty dime,

for the already beaten up slot machine?

Why is this bar so dusty,

so torn apart from being cozy and unique?

Why is this bar so heavy from thousands of hangovers,

with my eyelids closing in heaviness?

Maybe I’m tired.

Maybe I’m wasted.

Maybe I just don’t know.

Maybe I really want to go home.

…Or not.

Maybe; yes..

Surely not..

Maybe; no..

Surely yes..?

 

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