He stumbles to his fridge and grabs a beer.
What number drink is this? His tenth? His twelfth?
He’d started boozing at the bar that’s near 
His house and couldn’t even toast to health. 
Outside, there is the silence of the stars,
Along with mocking whispers of the wind. 
He thinks he hears the whoosh of passing cars,
Or maybe it is something else that’s twinned 
With all the noise inside his aching head. 
She’d ended their engagement weeks ago,
Which left him empty, like an unused shed. 
This healing vice will freeze his mind like snow.
Drink up, he says, and sucks it down his throat. 
At least for now it’s keeping him afloat.