Eighteen Straight Whiskeys

I just finished reading this collection of poems by Michael Easton. Intense. I think he plays on a soap opera too. That is hard to imagine after reading these, just doesn't seem the type.

Tequila and Lime

No inspiration
no heart, no balls.
Gutless,
drained and empty
with nothing to say.
Smoking,
frail and pathetic,
ash
and the smell of booze.
Tequila and Lime.
Drink rings, smoke rings
and spills.
Some puke.
Unshaven, greasy and angry
but with nothing left to say.
So fuck you
I never made any promises
and life ain't no apology.
This chapter is closed - a done gig.
Go away and leave me alone,
sweaty with blood on my fingers
listless and afraid.
And don't look back, don't even think about it
cause this last one wasn't even any good.
- Michael Easton