Drowning under a sea of vodka
Slithering it's way down my throat.
Chased by pineapple hunters,
It runs and seeks shelter
In the acidic cavity of my stomach.
Between my lips is a fire
Originating from the stick of mortality
I kiss the cancer as a greeting
Tomorrow, regret will cover me like smoke.
One, two , three
The ashes continue to fall to my feet
Burying me with questions of a mistaken identity.
Internally, my liver rages
At war with the poison
Falling, like bombs, from the glass.
Right now i can feel his anger
Sitting,Smiling as the sea calms
No longer drowning but floating
Everything is slowed, feet off the ground.
A flood of profanity pours through
Signalling the arrival of intoxication,
Personified as my alter ego Becky.
She at first looks at me with a sly smile
Then looks at the black on my lips and remarks "distasteful".
Suddenly the scene vanishes and
I slowly slip into the background,
Sleeping with one eye opened.
She rocks to the music.
Every movement matching the beat of the song.
Another fucking drink,
She looks to her executioner
As he hands her a cranberry flavored dynamite.
There is a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
She laughs and sways,
Flying over the dozens of bodies who are
Trapped within their limits.
Cautiously, she glances in the mirror.
Staring at her reflection,
She pats down her hair.
The corners of her painted lips,
Turn downwards.
She grimaces and mutters
The word once again, "distasteful".
I awake and look at her.
Yawning, I point to the time,
She looks at me with agreement.
Drifting away,
She leads us home.
Before she faded into a sober slumber,
She whispered to me,
"Stay".
She kissed me like a mother did,
To her daughter.
It made me believe,
I wouldn't be seeing her for a while
YOU ARE READING
Blackout: Becky's Tale
PoesíaSometimes she drinks a little too much and her drunk persona Becky shows up. But, is Becky only a product of intoxication ? There are always two sides to a story... It's only a poem right now. Thinking of developing it into a story.
