When you burn at your fingers what smolders in your head (poetry)

After the bottle is empty

when everyone else has gone home

you think of the words you should have said and

who you should have said them to 

When the middle of the night

becomes the first hours of daylight

you realize it is too late to go back to sleep,

too early to go to work 

After three hours in a car get you

100 miles down the road but

not an inch closer to getting away 

from the memory of what was

When you burn at your fingers

what smolders in your head 

what nags at your shoulders are thoughts that 

never leave you be 

^{Thanks to Templeton  for the title/inspiration}