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
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.