if you buy the drinks, this can be about you too!

i remember those drunken nights,
when we thought we could solve everything,
with every shot of tough liquor.
with our iron unbreakable livers,
we'd all agree on Joyces' pointlessness,
Bukowskis' timid sternness.
and dispute over Eliot and Hemingway.

we all could have sworn,
that we all had the better music taste.
and then compete for superiority to impress,
those dark haired gals first,
than the blonds second.
hoping these nights with them of regrets,
would make us better writers,
better musicians.

but even through all the strife,
there were many nights' alone.
head spins on the wine stained floor,
you were lucky if you didn't wake in spilled rum.
however alone,
intimately or not,
the next morning always seemed the same.
drunken,
hungover laughter,
of the nights' prior endeavors.
a scramble to the fridge to grab one of the last two beers,
and everyones cigarettes seemed to have always disappeared.

those mornings,
even menthols felt okay.
just like,
we as people felt pretty okay too.