I’ve been to the bottom and back.
Sometimes I leave because they kick me out,
other times I get enough sense to leave on my own,
but mostly I can’t remember why or how I left.
Usually I have to take a cab home,
and get my car in the morning.
I’ve been to the bottom a lot
sometimes I spend days there.
I take smoke breaks outside the place
which is how I’ve met friends…good friends
though I never know when I’ll see them again.
I carved my name in the bar stool,
change has fallen out of my pockets and is still in the couch.
There is a lot of me there, at the bottom,
but I only leave pieces of me
I won’t need when it’s time
to go back up.