pretend we're real.

today
my mum walked into my house
for the first time in years.
the first thing she said was,
"you drink too much."
i laughed,
because it's true.

today
i punched a hole in my roof
thought i might as well
create something to drain
away the pain.
i cried,
because it still hurt.

and let me tell you this.
the hollowness does not end.
it fills up with a dull ache
every now and then
but when the ache subsides
we fill it up,
with alcohol and splashes
of color.

we never get better,
but we are never worse.
we fall, we get lost,
and we seldom find our way back to ourselves.

& we might be wanderers, but at
least we can take our shots at
guessing who we are.