two hundred-seventy seven.

square one, lost memory.

she wore lipstick the color
of Hester's "A" and pumps
the height of a giraffe and
skirts that fit her like a suction cup
with hair as full as a willow tree.

she staggered through the
crowded streets collapsing
into arms of every bystander
that met her path and a piece
of her was left in the arms of
multiple strangers -

her eyes dripped of the champagne
she guzzled down while smokey, black
streams ran down her cheeks, mixing in
with the tears of the new year -

"cheers!!! happy new year!!!" the crowd exclaimed.

as she continued walking down
a lane that had no ending, she
searched for the end of the road
to begin what she felt she lost,
she wanted to start new - but
the night kept her clumsy and
her vision remained fuzzy.

her new year reminded her of many before.
it reminded her that when she woke up the
next morning, she wouldn't remember what
happened after 4.