missed shots, foggy memories

brutal is the way back home when all you have is yourself and you have no one else to talk to except the voices inside your head, recalling the stinging taste of alcohol        as it reaches your throat the instants you drowned         in the sea of her chuckles the moonlight fading slowly        in her radiant presence the selfish wishing it was your name        her lips utter into the night         and now, your steps lead to the front door you torture yourself a little more "how warm would her embrace feel?" you ask just as the morning sun blankets the dawn