Sometimes when I find myself pulling up thoughts of you,
I step outside into the cold winter night.
Frost bites at my hands as the blanket hits the ground,
The fabric rotten and stained, filled equally with memories and decay.
My head tilts up toward the sky,
And I consent to let the stars drip into my eyes.
A single star shoots across the gloom,
My wish landing upon its radiant train.
A moment later it breaks my eyes,
Until I see it’s the shards of my bottle scattered across the night.
But it’s okay to wish on broken glass,
Because surely that’s all stars are made of, right?
So I continue my endless gaze upon the ceaseless sky,
While my mindless fingers trace the next bottle in programmed patterns.
Liquid beads falls across the rugged tips,
Shiny, stinging drops sliding dark and thick.
And I recall the nights we spent out here alive,
When we sat watching the stars collide.
The bliss flowed easily, just like moonshine,
And one night, you showed me that your soul matched that light.
Yet, still my blood flow remained red as wine.
To you this act meant nothing, yet to me, it was the world.
My deeply lined hands slide across the quilt, with scouring intentions in mind,
But my brain cannot place the stains then that night.
The trail runs cold and the stars dulled down,
Just as my supposedly infinite supply of moonshine runs out.
My limelight fades and nothing now remains,
So I head inside, reminiscing on all the broken fading days.