Dislodged (8): Dislodged

I used to belong here,
with all these singing
people.
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,
But
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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