salt and flowers,
to the musky smell of ***** on her lips.
who was she without her drinks?

what light her glowing eyes once held
was miserably replaced with emptiness
and the subtle dread of return to reality.

her sobriety was virtually nonexistent,
that wretched glass bottle the barrier
between her conscience and the problems truly inescapable.

she drank her heart out,
as if alcohol could fill her heart
any better than love or hope,
emotions she grew numb to ages ago.

what a sad life it must be,
drinking, the only thing left to hang onto.

but the worst? –
she never admitted her addiction.
the shaking, the blackouts, the dependence
overwhelmed every beautiful thing she used to be.
yet the words,
“i need help,”
never passed her lips once.

days on end,
the world seemed to gray out,
all things sluggish, gloomy,
but only through her eyes.

i held her shaking hands,
numbness and the cold controlling,
anxiety and depression, circulating.

she craved her drinks,
no, needed them,
and fell in love with the lack of feeling.

she felt no guilt for what she did,
“just an escape,”
and she paid a heavy price
for who she chose to be.

alas –
tomorrow is another day.

ground zero
i become aware of boundaries
i am a dog chasing cars
i sing your voicemail to sleep
there are no surgeon general warnings
to tell me that
the objects in the mirror
are more depressed than they appear
so how do i tell you
that there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
or that i look for you every day
in emails & unanswered calls
in the sunrises
i didn't choose to be awake to watch
that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them
   *stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip
   stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant
   stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me
after
people always ask
what was loving her like?
after a really long silence
i just say
"it must be nice"
but i never say
it's watching paint dry
i never say
it's a window seat in hell
i don't tell anyone
about the dreams
where i am reading you
bedtime stories
each one is a different way you die
& every time i can never save you
dreams where what i think
are angels in my bedroom
are just homeless versions
of myself you never loved
i have dreams
where i pay someone to shoot me
just to see if you would cry
just to see
if you would cradle my body
i don't tell people
that loving you is like
playing piano
for someone who can't hear
that it's hitting repeat
on my favorite song
& forgetting the words
every time it starts over
that it's finding out
there's no milk after you already
poured yourself a bowl of cereal
it's getting locked in the dark
& being told to
look on the bright side
that loving you is like
being reminded of what it felt like
the first time
you accidentally let go
of a balloon as a child
it's drowning without the water
it's the feeling you get
when you start to dance
& the song ends

"tiaras and teacups"
reminds me of the innocence we all held at one point

"broken hearts and bitterness"
shows you how misery can change a lot about someone
you thought you knew