The Noose of Nostalgia

it is not just missing
the good times

slamdancing in a circle pit
with your best buds at a rock show

blacklit basement parties
doing lines of coke off cd cases

loquacious drunkards
gorgeous people
attainable pussy

last calls
and after-bars
with cheap pot
and cheaper beer

you'd be a goddamn fool
not to miss all that

but it's when
you genuinely reminisce
the fucking misery of it all

vomiting up a stomach full of vodka
at 11:30 in the morning
on the way to the next
watering hole

listening to the Agents of Oblivion record
on repeat by candle light
with a green plastic
bottle of scotch

writing incoherent
and unintelligible poems
as if they were grand suicide missions

turning blackouts into halos
and making romances out of horrors

as if pissing yourself
and burning frozen pizzas
were noble claims to glory

the memory of the knot
against the back of your neck
tickles

now
that
is addiction