Put away the orange bottles with your name on them. Take your blue bracelet off. Identity is more than a hospital bill. Money can make the man, and a man will kill to make the money, but the taste of wine is only dust to a hungry heart. You won't find hers at the bottom of a bottle.
It's just a mirror, there are no ghosts looking back at you. Those are your tired eyes, your veins pumping serum, your skin (however scarred) that holds you together. Keep your fingers tuned to the tones in my piano. I will play for you. I will play for you, your fingers over mine, following each ringing stroke and pressing deliberately each major chord.
You've kept your tongue in a cage, a red bird in the kitchen corner. Your throat scrapes and growls with desire. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to taste. The sunshine state beaches glisten with tan skin and beads of sweat. The smell of coconut oil simmers with the salty sea and shines with the gold that current economics proves too expensive to mine.
Just suck the air in, free of cigarettes, and feel the pink returning to your vessels. Weigh your shoulders down with the security of knowing you are at home. Keep it, save it, hoard it in the storerooms of your brain. Greed is the gift that keeps us alive.