Inebriation is an abbreviation that abbreviates my mental state. It shortens the amount of breakdowns and lengthens my mood so it can't swing. Swing like the punches to my gut every time you hurt me. I feel sick. Sick of the lies, sick of the crying, sick of the indifference. I find comfort in this fermented fruit and confidence in this pencil and paper. Because this alcohol couldn't give me the hangover that your whiplash does. You love me. Then, you love me not. This alcohol is making my body hot... so hot. So warm, so cozy, so comfy. I allow myself to revel in the thoughts of your finger tips and your lips on my skin until the thoughts of you ignoring me ruin them. This drink would never. I whisper to it all my thoughts and secrets every time I place my lips at the opening of the bottle. It allows me to until it's empty. Until everything is spinning. Until my body tingles. Until everything is black.
YOU ARE READING
Spilled Milk
PoetryA collection of poems and diary entries from a brilliant yet troubled mind and a passionately pumping & bleeding, hurting & healing heart.
