Across the country
We all dink our ambien pills together in chorus.
A community toast to baggy eyes,
and empty fuel tanks;
One’s fried brain opens twitter.
Calls it comedy.
Calls it drug induced.
I eat the last of the hash-brown casserole
my fiancé’s grandma sent home with me.
I cry, because it’s gone.
Not a metaphor.. I just want casserole.
I text all my friends and tell them I love them.
I tuck myself in.
I write this poem.
I call it disinhibiting.
So many ways to empty your thoughts.