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"Awoken by the sound his car makes
as it drives down the deserted street;
Glowing crimson numbers read 3 a.m. . .
Once again she's been left behind, forgotten.
Her life has been nothing but rumpled sheets,
the smell of dried sweat, and aching hips;
To hell with this. . .
Bare feet pad across cold wooden flooring,
headed for the liquor cabinet;
If they all leave her, Jack Daniels will still be her friend.
The clinking of a bottle against her glass
as she shuffles toward the old arm chair,
it's stained and worn cushions inviting her to sit. . .
Moving to take a drink, she notices the glass is empty,
but didn't she just fill it?
Shrugging, she picks up a pack of cigarettes lying on the floor;
As she smokes, the brilliant sun comes over the dead horizon,
bleeding golden light across her bedroom.
While gray clouds float around her mussed hair,
she thinks about the previous night. . .all the previous nights,
and closing her eyes,
she's left alone with her memories of lovers bathed in smoke. . . "
