Woke up today like yesterday with a hangover, brown smoked fingers smelling of fire,
Hair greasy, slicked back, congealed bacon fat on a frying pan,
Feels like my hands went through a window last night, broken knuckles plum purple, rectangular wounds that bled onto my coat now used as a pillow,
To piss to dream, sleeping past food bank hours, won't eat today, ten dollars for more malt liquor,
At least I have ten cigarettes, ten hours until I lurk out on to the street,
No use showering, I've defaulted on my water bill, electricity and heat,
Winter is coming, I can't break down and cry, ma raised a man,
No one has hired me for months and I don't know why, if I knew I would change,
Welfare wants their money back they sent the collection agency,
More mouths to feed, if I stuck around long enough to be a dead beat dad instead of a sperm donor,
I am sitting in a barren room, four hostile walls, brown along the edges white inside the middle,
I have a sleeping bag, old dried macaroni crusted with ketchup in a pan, I haven't ate in days,
No friends call me anymore, not after I shot myself two weeks ago, they said I hit the moon, I missed my a foot and tried again,
I'm used to the ants crawling on me while I sleep, feels like passing a straw bale scratching, they shit in the sugar,
Cigarettes and coffee, that's the menu today, all ala carte,
Eating will make me crave more, but alcohol takes away the growl for a day,
I just repeat the refrain Hank Williams taught me playing on the A-track,
I'm so lonesome I could cry, too dehydrated for tears,
I wonder about the dialetic of my dog, happily obsessing about a failure,
That wrinkled up ten dollar bill, that smooth as two-ply paper,
It's comforting to know that I can buy something, wonder what I pawned to get it,
I spent the money on gasoline, start my car in the garage, fall asleep, deeply.
Small town suicide is all too big, and my corpse won't miss the sting.

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