Never Hungover Again

I used to be your favorite t-shirt.

Now, I’m at the bottom of your pile of dirty laundry,

waiting for another day; a day to get layered

as the crisp autumn wind pierces through the fabric

of your sweater. I’ll always be close to your heart.

Autumn evenings are a game. I only drive to get food at dusk,

when I start to count how many times I can floor it

on a yellow light and still get away with it.

Someone once told me if I want to stop getting triggered,

I should keep my hands off the gun. 

But it’s too familiar. Pain is all that I know.

I’ll never stop driving up to the lake at dusk,

lowering all of the windows, and watching the sunset.

Another day wasted. Maybe I can do better tomorrow.