Standing without speaking
Crowded bathroom
All focused on the white pile
As it turns into lines
Cut straws
For each nose
And up the nose it goes
Fall of the wagon
For a death—but we know better
Pass around the liquor bottle
Shot glass not needed
Embrace the burn, nose and throat
Supposed to help forget
But we know better
Need another cigar
The smoke’s almost gone
Mechanically in the car
Headed to the bar
A line, a drink, a blunt
Snorted, swallowed smoked
But we know better

 
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