i miss the whiskey wet of myself, my own outstretched heart, solvent in the bright beers of this city, reaching for others' smiles and jokes and bright eyes. dried up i lurch against the plaster walls that patch this poor town together, evasive, alone, and scared, scraping elbows and wrists against limestone, coming up red with brick dust. the me that once floated through half-lit streets, arm in arm with laughing dancers and stumbling grace, lurks in the center of my guts, twisting remembered happiness in her fists, throwing handfuls of past adorations up into my mouth. half-dry brain forgets what its goal was, reviews dormant friendships and stalled socializing and decides regret has always been my home base anyway. wasted or unlubricated, i have never been far from guilt.