97.

I haven’t felt calm since
those morning-after moments
tangled bodies of friends
on the stairs, in my bed,
in parks and in tents
sprawled all over; waking up
if they were ever sleeping
with red eyes and smiles
to mull over, regret, recover
to make breakfast and be
teenaged, young, but still
grown up enough to clean
knowing that the carnage
couldn’t be left ’til Monday
unaware, though,
that time was running out
on youth, on calm, on us
and I might have saved the bottles
had  I known

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