Whom.

Buzzing alive, nibble at my toes.
Drift far and wide, bring home the bones.
A smoking gun creeps,
Look down the windows
Hear my harping and listen close.

Said goodbye, a little green circle over my heart
Or inferior vena cava, really - the vessel through which
All things return.
Farewell, adieu, burning impulse drives me into
A leap of faith, or something like that.
Not ready, not ready to sleep just yet
So I sit with my glass
And my cigarette lit
And watch the crazy go by.
Getting closer to a place of comfort
Of ease.
It's been difficult so long, too long I'm ready for a change.
Flip switch, panic drift
That call to calm, to lay down arms,
"against a sea of troubles".

The #2 drives by, despite their waving and calling.
I have never taken the bus, here.
Not sure which waves higher, your hand or your
Mounds of pungent flesh.

Cigarette burnt out, I didn't really want it anyway
Just lit because the pack was open and
That's what you do.

I wish a lot of things into the morning sunlight
Maybe it's just that I can't stand going home to an
Empty bed, anymore.