The Night I Became Bukowski

Dragging feet back to my floor
I remember the ending so well
I almost broke my neck how I swung to music in the May breeze in Jessica’s car
I loved her
I loved you
I loved who I was
But, like ink
I ran dry
From writing about ghosts

My memory trails through the peaks and valleys
Recounting a time where you gave me eyes in confidence
And dry lips
“We’re done”
I never ran so far
With a bottle in my hand
And a pen in the other

I became my worst nightmare