Prose and Friends and Alcohol

we can build a fire,

and listen to songs

about all the things

we almost had,

but still miss,

then we'll make a toast

to the words

floating just out of reach,

whiskey on ice

and the bitter taste

of reality,

and we'll smile when we see

that none of us are

drinking alone tonight,

that none of us are.

alone.

all missing the same things

in different ways,

finding solace in the laughter,

maybe a few tears before dawn,

and words that taste like blood

as they leave us,

that look like love,

another round for all of us

still pretending to be whole,

still drinking slow enough

to greet the sun.