i got a call today from the dead stories
trying not to spray blood in my ear
trying to calm me with a bear claw
quietly ripping into my flesh and worries

i returned there and i wasn't myself
the puddles were dirtier and i was
hoping that a man i once needed
was needed still, and not just for the hell of it

i smoked a cigarette, and stabbed my finger
as a sacrifice for the sadness, but still i drank
and for that, there was no reason, aside
from seeking an escape west of shuffled pages