Nighttime brings with it too many hurtful things.
They crowd my head pushing me into a sea of liquor.
My body remembers his touch.
Oh, how I wish I could erase his touch.
***** is my safe place.
I hide in intoxication and wish for sobriety.
It’s nearing 1 a.m. and yet my demons
continue to haunt my tortured soul.
Death sounds so much simpler than life.
Is that a bad thing to think?
Succumbing to the pain would release me.
But something keeps me here.
Perhaps it’s pathetic optimism.
I was always a sucker for “tomorrow.”