Ethos

I always stay too late.

I am always the last to leave,

The one left to taste the soured wine

Passed in frantic effort

To regain the spirit,

Get burnt by the embers

Of hysterical bodies

Trying to rekindle the longspent fire.

Last to leave

And first to come off that high

Brought on by either ethers or ethos

First to sniff the stale smiles that linger

in the air

Long after the fleeting fancy

That brought them has left.

I always leave too late,

And as I totter home,

I am always emptier in the dying hours

Drained from the effort of trying to live.

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