The Noose of Nostalgia
it is not just missing
the good times
slamdancing in a circle pit
with your best buds at a rock show
blacklit basement parties
doing lines of coke off cd cases
loquacious drunkards
gorgeous people
attainable pussy
last calls
and after-bars
with cheap pot
and cheaper beer
you’d be a goddamn fool
not to miss all that
but it’s when
you genuinely reminisce
the fucking misery of it all
vomiting up a stomach full of vodka
at 11:30 in the morning
on the way to the next
watering hole
listening to the Agents of Oblivion record
on repeat by candle light
with a green plastic
bottle of scotch
writing incoherent
and unintelligible poems
as if they were a grand suicide missions
turning blackouts into halos
and making romances out of horrors
as if pissing yourself
and burning frozen pizzas
were noble claims to glory
the memory of the knot
against the back of your neck
tickles
now
that
is addiction
