The Spilt Milk Blues

This coming of age story lacks for maturity
and protagonists

We are you and not I
We are I and bottom shelf whiskey, kissing slovenly like young lovers
Sickly romantic, I’m depressing my fellow drunks

In my solitude
If there is safety in numbers, you must be secure as Fort Knox
Almost got away with it, too
If not for your voracious appetite for crumbs
and telling stories

I’m not without sympathy, but you’re a pity and I’ve a pittance for your crocodile tears

It’s a sorry state of affairs when apologizes are the Ladies Night special
and I have to cut you off

Familiarity breeds contempt and you’re saying nothing new

Nor I
What’s done is done, but I’m living in exhaustion
Exhuming an argument that has no life but keeps breathing in my head
I’m not going to fix my mistakes now,
If you want to forget about me, well, you already did

In the wake of our godly act, the builders have rebuilt, the waters have receded, the animals have returned
Like a pretty face
Time forgets
Somebody loves me, even it if isn’t me
So our arc can come full circle

Now the facts are a matter of broken record
and each time I tell your story, I get a little better at it.