i know
i drink
too ******* ******* much.

it's not good for me,
i know, but what in this
life is? wouldn't it be better
to lose myself,
in order to find myself?

or would you rather me be
sober, alone,
fighting in the four walls of my
head that seem to be closing in on me
even as i struggle to breathe?

and then you ask me,
why my clothes smell of smoke.
i remind you,
on a night not too long ago,
you held me in your arms,
regardless of smoke, or not.

or perhaps the stench wasn't so strong then.

because you see,
when you lose half of you,
the things you turn to
to save yourself
might very well **** you.