Sequel To The Bartender (Lifestyle poem of the day) 

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i numb this pain of our separation with yet another glass of rum and cloud this reality with dark grey smokes like some voodoo artist, hoping to forget all about you in my high state of wild moon child adventure

the midnight sneaks to the bar at the edge of town, my home, my safe space, become my favorite hobby; the bartender, my savior, i run to you with tales of my betrayal and lessons against deep love
today it hurts more than ever, tonight i am low on cash; but the eager bartender with open ears, a good listener of my sob stories of anguish, offers me free whiskey to ignite yet another tearing night. 
some little bar etiquette guilts me of this gesture of drowning my sorrows and numbing my pain without paying a cent; so my depressed self trades the bartender my pretty pricey phone, forcefully
maybe later on tomorrow, when his shift’s done, he’ll open the divine thread between my ex love and i, and be lost in our texts, conversations long and beautiful, full of out of this world expressions of love and neatly tied with cheesy emojis of shy monkeys and love hearts
maybe in our most recent chats he’ll feel this pain beating in my dying heart, maybe he’ll notice how and when we began to drift away from each other, with delayed replies that just began a fortnight ago, feels like forever, maybe he’ll read my last text to you, a question of why you wanted to leave, a question of if you really loved me, all still left on read
what that means to choke you up, when you give yourself to someone in surrender and blind obsession, what that means to hate someone for disloyalty but still feel love for them, what that means to fight for air in your small space of torture; for she buried me alive and my soul is lost, wandered to the dark forest of heartbreak singing dirges she composed lying on my chest every other night
mr. bartender now understands my pain, he questions less about us because he has treaded on the spine that anchored our love and can vividly confess that it has been broken enough not to heal or try to find another tale of love
so i become his best yet scriptures of the bar table, a favorite customer deserving to be framed on his wall, one who needs not to pay for i’ll keep trading every last hurting memory of you for another shot of tequila
maybe i’ll eventually numb this heart enough to unfold you from my brain, maybe it will be tonight as i share this last drink with mr. bartender, one last drink to help me sleep dumb not to dream about you, one last drink until tomorrow

@ John Acéx
Sequel To The Bartender (Lifestyle poem of the day) 

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