timestamp

it’s 11:36 pm.
i’m writing this in a bar.
who do i think i am?
it doesn’t matter.

everything feels warm
and a little too loud
in the exact right way.

i just needed a second
to write this down
because nights like this
make being alive
feel kind of worth it.

even if this ends up
a timestamp just for me.
even if i never finish the poem.

but i really want a cigarette.
it’s either that or send a text to someone i shouldn’t.
fuck probably both. 


fuck just the cig I guess. 

rach