I met a drunkard today.
Took the seat beside him on the bus.
He reeked of intoxication;
The toxic mix of sorrow, regret
And perhaps a swig of rum.
I payed no mind to the drunkard
Just 10 more blocks to go.
He turned.
Called us all peasants
And demanded another round.

Mr bus driver bartender
Pour us a glass of whiskey
And not on the rocks
Cause that’s a little too risky,
With a man whose broken heart mocks,
And with a me whose eyes glaze over misty.
A little unhinged we are, til home the bus docks.

Take another round
Round my block
I don’t want to be found,
Home, nor does the drunkard
See our homes are as quiet as loud
With two place settings on the table.
One for a me and another for a nobody.

Mr bus driver bartender
Don’t pour us any vodka
As clear and as translucent
As the tears that ran past our noses
Because we didn’t know
That love had walked out,
Through an open door,
Right before hope and happiness did too
Would be at the bottom of a shot.

Forget this transgression
This isn’t a juxtaposition
Of me and you.
See, I met a drunkard today
Took a seat beside him on the bus.
There in my reflection
Sat the drunkard, staring back at me.

Qerioae – the state of being in regret and unable to rectify the mistakes.
Dedicated to the man that I saw standing by the side of the road and whispering things to the sky. I know you weren’t insane,  but I know you weren’t okay either. Where ever  you are now,  I hope you’re okay.

Light from Lita
See you soon.


3 Replies to “Qerioae”

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