Hysterical laughter. Jager stained rug. Backseats. Impromptu trips to Wisconsin. Whiskey burnt tongue. Broken glass. Black eyes. Red wrists. Ecstasy driven dreams. Love lost and lost love. Yes, the chaos of my youth. Beautiful and tragic in a most memorable way. Why lately have I been so hung up on this subject.Thinking and thinking and remembering and remembering. Maybe it's the rude way I thrust myself into society without preparation. It is a big thing to go from stripper to nurse. I feel like that time in my life is fading away, and I want so bad to keep it fresh. I want to feel that pain, because I felt. I want to know and never forget what we went through. What we all go through. Maybe I feel guilty. Maybe it's guilt from all of my sins that keeps me reeling. No. No such thing. I lived without regrets. I lived without boarders. These weren't sins, but extraordinary experiences from which I learned. Right? Right. Who am I trying to convince? Shit, I need a beer. Maybe even a prayer. 
Not really more like in Agent of Sweetheart.
But nice poem!