Euphoria is Ephemeral

The night proceeds as it does;
second by second,
minute by minute,
hour by hour.
In between pints of Pabst Blue Ribbon,
shots of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey
and the occasional cigarette,
we question our reasons for being here.
The answer is hazy at best,
non-existent when things seem dire.
We try to drink and fuck our way to happiness,
but euphoria is ephemeral.
We are princes and princesses of despair,
clinging on to our fading vanities,
losing both control and our footing
on the landscape that is forever shifting.

©José-Ariel Cuevas