The park is dark tonight while I'm drinking,
the shadows of friends have long retreated.
Bright orange city lights tinge my thinking
Lying in the grass alone, defeated.
My bottle now empty, discarded glass,
no longer a den for spirits and mirth
sequesters the moon on the dying grass;
an icy blue light for unworthy earth.
The vodka I drank still teases my tongue
while cold night air penetrates my clothing.
Salty bitter fire between each lung
Keeps me warm from the cold of self loathing.
The park is spinning as I try to leave,
but I fall back down to my knees and heave.