At the bar

what a drunkard my pen is,

he pukes and spits everywhere,

and often forgets where his pain is.

he follows me everywhere,

like the thought and ouch 

of my first make-out kiss.

last night at the bar i killed myself, 

and he got all enchanted,

and all talky and blabby,

about our hole-and-corner.

i pressed his head with my thumb,

gentle, like the burn of love 'fore it stings,

gentle, like the man that killed my mom

i pressed him, and his mouth went to sleep.

"that makes two of us,

broken in silence… inside, 

hiding our scattered pieces."