The ticking clock tocks
The talk ends and the car locks
Dead engine, dead time
Bad mentions, worse crimes
Arguments and fights
Augmented intents
Shit nights
Black out wasted
A tasteless, faceless, disgrace
Shattered glass
Bruises
The broken last
But remain useless
Flashbacks flash back
Buried beneath a bottle
Throttle, empty the tank
Hollow with a stare that’s blank
Tomorrow rewind, play back
Swallow the guilt that built up
Follow the hill to the top
Take a deep breath before the drop
Jump.
Roll The Credits, Please.

By Jeffry Crole