my mother opens her chest
and tells me god put a gun
there for when he comes back,
i protest the right to carry
outside the city lines
even though i've been
hurt too:
her wine cabinet tastes like
retribution and hope,
her red 4 days old open seal
tastes like ******* ****
20 minutes later,
when it's just me, the dog,
and a lukewarm drink.
don't put ice in wine. i've
learned this.
you know, i don't even
pick up bibles when
i'm ****** up? i cry
into tarot cards that
are vague and lack
comfort and pages
and pages
and pages
of lackluster
fake sunshine
water to wine to water again
my dad's the alcoholic,
nice ******* try,
big guy,
you're not
even speaking-
i have a dissociative
disorder, *******,
try me when i'm
feeling less real
istic.
i rarely drank, drank a lot last week, my family is full of religious zealots that border culty and it makes me sad