It’s 4am
A glass of Glenfiddich 12 in my hand
I dial your number

A familiar voice speaks
As Tony peeks
Out from his hole
Near the thing you built
And grabs the bread I left for him
A mouse never fully domesticated
But loved

I dial your number once more
You will get back to me
As soon as you are free
The irony bitter in my mouth
I wash it down with sweet whisky

I light a cigarette
Since you are not here to stop me
I puff out the sadness that comes from within
Down more whisky
To ignite a dying flame in my soul
But like the morning dew
Sadness overwhelms all hope

The sun is rising now
It smiles at me
And I look back in disgust
Stars do not understand grief
Even Tony chews his crust without caring