He keeps his regrets trapped in an old tin cigarette case
Which lies under a pile of worn-out socks in a dresser drawer
He coughs up blood and guts and spits smutty curses at Polaroids
He took of sluts who posed stoned sucking bottles of Wild Irish Rose
His breath reeks of lies and contempt and unkempt morals
Which wheeze over blackened teeth and dribble down his chin
Into a rat’s nest beard where his tongue reaches down
And licks the stains left by never-healing wounds.
He curses his memories,
Rehearses his future and butchers his past
Then, for lasting effect: pulls the trigger.