#psmarch

I recline against the brightening green. The mud-thaw cushions me, While vanilla bean and sugar cane Coat my bitter tongue.

Though the sun begs in radiated tones To jacket scabbing scars And replace winter’s coat,

Damage has never healed damage. Except when it does. 

So, I peel away my sweater, And the stream cheers as it slips by, While wagging tails plunge inside, A rapid applause, a gentle charm. “Come on in; The water’s only just a tiny bit chilly.” 

When I drink alcohol, I tend to have one too many. My brain goes fuzzy And my vision turns blurry.

When I drink alcohol, I sing on top of my lungs. Pretend that I'm singing kareoke To whatever song that was playing.

When I drink alcohol, I talk a lot. I talk about things I never tell people - Things such as feelings.

When I drink alcohol, My bottled up emotions Turns to running water And explodes.

When I drink alcohol, I call you names. Love, baby, my one and only The list goes on, but my favorite is "that dipshit prick"

When I drink alcohol, My confidence boots, Cheers from from friends in cahoots, Oh god, I'm going to embarrass myself.

When I drink alcohol, I forget that I hate you. I remember all and I still love you, Goddamn it, what is it with you?

When I drink alcohol, I fail to remember drink responsibly. I draw Venn diagrams of why we can't be, Wishing every shot was a ticket of what used to be.

I have never been drunk To write while intoxicated, Under the high, Heady influence of liquor. But I am unsteady As I pen this, losing balance And losing my grip. I may just lose my mind… But I don’t mind.

These words blur, Slur intoeachother, A flurry of frantic feeling. With double vision All I envision is you, Lightheaded from All that you are.

My judgement is impaired And I must keep away To impede myself From expelling the messy contents Of my heart at your feet, Resulting in a regret Hangover in the morning.

These gloomy streets are full of regret at midnight, I smell it on the westerly winds.

I dropped my keys when I stubbled coming out the side exit of the sticky dive bar. I walked all the way home before I checked my pockets; So here I am, with blisters starting to burn my feet, I’m back at the scene of the liver crimes - my mind is not swimming in vodka anymore, the fresh air sobered me up enough to see better by the streetlights without squinting. I am digging through the rubble dumped near the dumpster where I tripped, but all I can find is all the things I was trying to lose when I was throwing back countless shots, trying to run away from those thoughts; they’re all here, covered in some strangers vomit. I’m picking them back up, with the tips of my two pinched fingers - holding them at arms length trying not to get covered in all of the filth of them.

My keys are still nowhere to be found.