What's Left?

A goodbye, an awkward hug
The tangy taste of regret
On a still bitter tongue
The room suddenly filled
With a thousand pound silence
We can get passed the past or
At least drunk enough to
Not feel it when it smacks
Us in the face. Someone else’s
Lips are on your face, my face
Is hot and wrapped in dirty looks
And indignation masking late night
Crying and fear that I will walk
Alone watching you drive away.