I wake up near noon
Shield my eyes from the sun
The day is angry
I neglected her.

I brew coffee in the quiet
The air conditioner hums
There's no one to worry
About the things I've done.

There's blood on the bedsheets
And a cut on my arm
Several missed calls and a dent in my car
I recall very little about last night's adventures
But it doesn't really matter
All my heroes were drinkers

I come home from work
House is cold and dark
But there's still some whiskey
From the night before
There's a chill on the air and in my bones
But the bourbon soon takes and warms my soul

I can't stir a conversation
So I talk to myself
I sing in the kitchen
I dance and cook dinner
Nothing elaborate, nothing expensive

I dine alone and I pull from my bottle
And I wrestle with myself
I put off tomorrow
And. . .

I'll be hungover but I'll save some liquor
Hair of the dog
All my heroes were drinkers

The beer tastes like steel
But my heart's at last numb. . .
I know it'll kill me
Hell, it's best not to linger
A sip and a smile
All my heroes were drinkers

Fitzgerald and Hemingway
Faulkner and John Wayne
They all had at least a bottle a day
Chandler and Steinbeck
Sinatra and Mark Twain
I guess, in the end, we all fade away--

*Cover art by Noah Verrier