It was easy to get bitter again

Even if she was his best friend…

All the ways they had failed,

Memories too detailed

Threatened to make him rue their mutual end.

It was tempting to go off in a rage,

But he knew he had to act his age…

To go off on a binge

He felt more than just a twinge,

But with what?–their pocketbook was a cage.

He looked and saw women he could see,

But making connections couldn’t be…

Things that he had to hide

Were waiting deep inside,

Negating benefits from a spree.

His pain and suffering would endure

As long as waking up was sure…

To live was to hope,

Through darkness he’d grope

‘Cause escape was anything but pure.


–Jonathan Caswell


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