I drink in the backseat of my friend’s car because drinking alone means you have a problem.
I can see boardrooms and coffee shops through the windows of a hospital,
the businessmen and office clerks trying their best to beat the sunrise.

There are crickets trying to tell me their stories, but I’m not listening.
I'm too distracted by the abyss above me
and the still kind of chaos within me.

To surrender?
Be swallowed whole by hedonism and pollution?
Or flee back to the comfort
of the only place I've ever called home?
© ramblingneurotic