sometimes at night
i molt out of my skin
and drown my lungs in alcohol
that burns like gas going down
but still feels better than the rotting in my chest
you say i don’t drink
you’re right. i don’t
but she does
she’s tragedy, slithered deep inside
laying coiled around my ribs
protecting my anguish
and disguising it as something else
you see, i still think about you
but you lay with another girl
in the same bed we laid in
bottles are my only salvation
away from the thought of you
but shhh
don’t tell anyone