Dislodged (8): Dislodged

I used to belong here,
with all these singing
The band on the stage and
the pastor, waiting in the wing,
to change all our lives.

I used to be one of these.
These faces.
A sea of dancing plastic
name tags
And handshakes.

I’m not exactly sure when it happened,
the ashtrays are always full.
My phone
is full,
of names that don’t mean anything.

I find comfort
in my nosebleeds.
A sacrifice,
to something.

And when asked
I’ll say, “Whiskey.”
And you can hold that fucking look.

Now I’m sitting here thinking,
Who thought those colors were a good idea?

About nathan

has written 14 posts for The Pancake Bandits.

Hi, my name is Nathan and I'm a Columbus Ohio based writer and (I like to think) all around creative dude. I really dig the art I dig. Enough to write about it ALL the time. If you like my posts here, check out my personal site: nathanbweller.wordpress.com where I write about my favorite music, movies, and books.

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