Poems for the Pained

Whiskey and Vodka

My intoxicated mind rushes back to that night
As the inky sky lays silently above me.
The damp surrounding me reminds me of his touch,
I feel the cold rush up from my feet to my lips
And it is almost like he has cralwed back to me.
I thought I had burned the cabinet in which his story had sat so unwillingly.
The whiskey and vodka were meant to fuel the blaze,
Yet they only seemed to douse the flames.
With each drag of the cigarrette positioned firmly between my fingers,
I notice that I am dying.
The smoke lies in my lungs, the scars throb on my legs and his actions haunt me.
Perhaps dying is the only way to deal with the pain,
I notice my thoughts betray me now.
I had been better,
But with every shot and every gulp I am slowly pulled back to the abyss of what had happened.
There are no stars to be seen above me,
The droplets roll off of the wood of the decking in the most unimpressive manner.
The cold air pokes my body.
It is as though the universe is taunting me,
Getting better is a mountain I am not yet strong enough to scale,
And getting worse is a deep pit of whiskey and vodka just begging me to get lost inside of it.