Vons

“You have sacrificed your

chips to me,” I said in a mock militant voice

licking my fingers

like an addict that needs the remnants,

the crumbs of

life.

 

And I don’t know why I ate them,

I wasn’t even hungry, really. They just

seemed to know the right flavors to

converse with to make my tastebuds

breathe.

 

I promise you next trip to the store

chips are on me.

 

I’m sorry I drank all your whiskey

one shot led to another and counting

became second priority.

The night whispered happiness

and I followed close to make

Wednesday the spotlight

for a change.

 

I promise you next trip to the store

whiskey’s on me.

 

“I think I was addicted to catnip in

my past life,” he said as he took a hit.

and sighs became one with

smoke while the cat ran infinite circles around the

room, I swear he learned new tricks while

we were away.

 

I’m sorry I smoked all your

cigarettes. I guess you had a right to

laugh when I said I was quitting.

It doesn’t even taste right to

me anymore. The sin used to taste like

nectar, but now I taste

desperation disguised as

addiction.

 

Next trip to the store,

 

Who am I kidding, I’ve got a pack

stashed in my car.

 

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