i squint through the cracks of my awkwardly bent glasses
mangeled from a run in with a man named jack, or was it jim?
maybe jose, johnny. a common name like that.
If you have met this ghost before you know who i mean.
the dark figure at the end of the bar
that stares you in the eyes and then slowly creeps up behind you to empty your wallet
and rob you blind of your senses.
usually i can avoid him for a few days,
a week maybe
but lately he has been coming around more often.
breathing warm air, this time
down my neck. reeking of broken promises
and winstons, and breathmints
in one ear and out the other.
and straight to my head.
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