Getting sober, leaves of clover. Growing older, ever bolder. This winter’s colder than years passed; you told me my youthful laughter wouldn’t last. I spend nights, alone, half-heartily tonguing the holes in the roof of my mouth. Empty handed, every road I’ve traveled leads south. Roads to ruin. I let the rain slick off my jacket. I collect habits like holes in my pocket, always on the losing side. Forgetting. This great ship that is my life has capsized. Taking on water like an addiction. We all know the outcome.