All The Pills

All the pretty colorful pills

aligned in a row

on my coffee table,

next to my

almost-empty bottle of red.

The first is to take the edge off

this dreadful, horrible life

and the second is to make me forget

all the girls I shouldn't have met.

The third one will hopefully

take my mind off all the girls

I will never be with

while the fourth will wipe

all my debts clean.

The fifth one,

so blue and shiny,

will be for the jobs

I couldn't get

and the sixth one

will help me remember

I am better off without

most of my so-called friends.

It's already the seventh,

time to open a second bottle.

As the familiar

and comforting

sound of red

pours out into my empty glass,

I contemplate my little pals

waiting for me on the glass top.

So, yes, the seventh:

magnificent by name,

makes me a bit sad

for all the new films

and music I won't be

experiencing.

But the eight one tells me

to buck up and be a man,

because what good is

art in a life bereft of

hope?

The ninth

is to forget about

that one time I did

that thing

and the tenth

is just for me,

because now's the time,
the time or never,
for real,

to think about myself.

I take a break while I chug

some of that fine-ish red

and by the twelfth one

I am giggling

because this is such a fucking cliché.

And so the thirteenth one is because

I am a cliché

and the fourteenth one is because

I have a headache.

Number fifteen and sixteen

are just because I want to make it to twenty

and seventeen is because

I still have a headache.

Eighteen is to forget that time

I shat my pants

and nineteen is

to forget the backstabbings

and betrayals.

Nineteen was a big one for sure,

but number twenty

is the one the internet

told me would be the final

one

and so,

as I sit back and finish

my tall glass of wine,

waiting for this chapter

to draw to a close,

I hope that -for once-

I won't be let down.