now i'm back to thinking about leases and loans, rent, gas and phone. i think about credit cards and car payments and the television murmurs behind me because it's better than another silent night. i don't just need companionship and roommates only make this feeling worse. hell may be other people but i seemed to be the only cause of your misery since you spent more time with friends i never knew you had than you ever did with me. you came home drunk one monday morning, the smell of cheap wine still on your breath and your face flushed as you rushed into the bathroom to make another feeble attempt to clean up before work after you passed out at the house of a friend who i discovered was a lover. and this is what i remember: nights of loneliness and empty beds that i left behind and that left me prepared for the loneliness and empty bed that i now call home. and everything seems fake and tawdry, empty smiles and vacant looks and hearts like holes so deep you'll never hear an echo. and these are the memories that leave me feeling as cold as the morgue i will someday face. i could number a roulette wheel with the lies you told. i could play like a russian and bet on black and always miss the one that's closest to the truth you never knew.