Tag Archives: drinking

Just a little ice to numb the pain.


I don’t drink much. I can remember the last time I was drunk,
and that was months ago. One, maybe two. Then I’m done.

Being drunk only amplifies whatever mood my heart is in.
But one or two, and that softens it. The gray sadness
becomes a little more dull, a little more bearable.

Tonight I’m drinking water and it occurs to me;

I want a drink.


I’m just… Me.


I can’t get it out of my head; everything I’ve ever said or done like it’s one big ink stain on my reality. Like I’m the only reason why there are fall backs and hindrances.

I swear I’m not a huge fuck-up but I see everything pointing back to me and even while I know it’s false that’s the only thing that sounds right. My head can shake in refusal and nonacceptance but it still presses further and further into my being like once it makes its way through, that’s it. It’s written in stone. It’s truth.

Everyone tries to twist my words and my actions, they try to twist what kind of person I am to fit their lives. Of course then when I can’t find it in me to let anyone in, it’s my fault and somehow I’m still the one fucked up.

These bonds people place on my wrists to theirs feel brittle while they look like diamond to everyone else. One jerk in the other direction and we’re both let free, but somehow they don’t see that.

I’m not the bad guy. But I’m also not the hero.

I wish everyone would understand that I am not their hero.

I am not a hero.

our little sins

who keeps the bottle
held tightly like we do
in balled up fights
not sure if we’re ready for a fight
or we’re just terrified of letting go

I don’t care for the taste
I guess I never really have
but you drink like it’s a sweet nectar
instead of poison that I drink to numb
every feeling in my chest

your arm’s laid across my naked stomach
and I’m trying to see your face
but you’ve turned your head away
and the only thing I see is your naked body
suckling at the teat of the devil who is the bottle

I take it when it’s offered
and I lick my lips and drink as much as my burned throat can take
then I feel your tongue lap at a drop
that slipped from my lips to my neck
and drinking isn’t the only sin we share

our passion has dissolved into disgust
and I don’t see you anymore, only your shell
and if this were a race,
who’s winning
and where exactly is the finish line?

How are you supposed to know if you deserve better?

He’s blowing smoke out of the car window and her hands are trying to fuse to the wheel. White knuckles and a clenched jaw but he’s too drunk and stupid to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

Her eyeliner has smeared to form rings around her eyes but she doesn’t care because he hasn’t looked at her since they got in the car. He hadn’t looked at her before that. In her mind she wonders if he ever actually looked at her – If he ever actually saw her. She doubts it. He’s too stupid to open his eyes. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

The road is black and the white lines flash by so quickly she’s starting to get sick from looking at them. Or maybe that’s the tequila that’s still sloshing around in her stomach. Her eyes dart to the passenger seat and he’s still smoking but his eyes are closed and his short hair is being tickled by the wind. He hasn’t even noticed they should’ve stopped by now. She should have been at his place by now.

It’s been two, maybe three hours and she keeps looking at the white lines. The car slows and she pulls over on the side of the road, only somewhat glad it was too late for there to be any other cars on the road. When she opens her door to get out, that’s when his attention is stirred. He’s curious what she’s going to do, but he takes a drag instead of asking. When she closes the door behind her he shuts his eyes and leans his head back, she’s already out of sight, out of mind.

Knees hit the dirt and the grass and her hands fly out to stop her from falling. She dry heaves for a while before pausing just long enough to haphazardly tie her hair up. As soon as her hands touch the ground again there goes the contents of her stomach. It’s a good five or so minutes when she’s able to wipe her mouth on the sleeve of her sweatshirt and her head aches.

She slides into the driver’s seat again to find the passenger sleeping. Her hands fold on her lap and they’re together in silence and she doesn’t cry because no one cares if she does or not. The taste of vomit starts to make her queasy again so she digs into his pants pocket for the mint gum he keeps and pops one in her mouth.

They’re on the road again, but she’s taking him home this time.

The drive back is much quicker and the white lines aren’t distracting her anymore. When she pulls up to his dinky shack of a house he stirs and sits up. He still doesn’t look at her, even when he gets himself out of the car. Before he shuts the door, he lights another cigarette and takes a long hit. He sniffs and stares out over her car. Without so much as a glance, his gruff, slurred voice breaks the silence. “You wanna come in?” He asks.

She hates herself for the immediate want to and it’s hard to say no. When she does though all he does is shrug and shut the door. Her eyes watch him fumble for his keys and go inside.

Her knuckles are soft on the door and her heart’s beating wildly. Maybe he’ll see her this time, she’s thinking. But when he opens the door it’s his lips that find her, not his eyes. This time she cries but he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care. Maybe this time if she does it good enough he’ll see her for once. From the moonlight shining through the curtains, she takes in his closed eyelids and the way he touches her but doesn’t feel her.

Now she’s wishing she didn’t throw up the tequila because this would be easier if she were still drunk.

Stars and Wine

Your lips left me with sparks

Reminiscent of all of the damn stars

Kind of like the tingles you get from

Drinking a sparkling wine

So I drink and drink and drink

To replace all of the constellations

That you took away from me

The eruptions on my tongue

Taste just like you

But the aftermath of the bumps

Crawling up and down my limbs,

Down my spine, making my toes curl

Give me enough to sip just a little bit more

The Comfort of Drinking

I drink and his grip loosens

He doesn’t like the smell of it

So I drink a little bit more and he stops holding me

I drink and drink to get him to go away

To leave me with this smile and a lack of hurt

And it feels so good to laugh

Without a barrage of tears threatening to storm

So I laugh and I like this feeling of being alone

Without being lonely from him

Because once I sober up

Once the drinking ceases

And the world isn’t spinning on its axis

He’ll come back with his arms open wide

And his lips pressed to my ear whispering,

“I’ve missed you.”


Selfishness is a greedy monster that has many faces – mine aches to know if I left an imprint. From the lips I’ve kissed, to the hands I’ve held, to the eyes mine have met with. I picture a group of people in a room with me and every face I can see, they still think of me. Of course, I don’t know who’s in the room – that would be too eery.

Though I think I’ve also misspoken about my Selfishness, it has more than one face. Sometimes is wants to know if it’s more selfish to want to leave this Hell on earth, or if it’s more selfish to keep someone on this Hell on earth.

My selfishness has many different faces and so far none of them bring me anything good. So far they leave me with a sick feeling in my stomach and sometimes bile in the porcelain thrown.