When I  cannot feel anything,
I drink.
One casual sip
Two social drinks
Three stranger shots
Four misperceived "crazy" phone calls
and
Five lonely cigarettes in front of the bar.
I restrain myself
for weeks on end
and
sometimes even the weekend
But feeling feels so great.
It feels like breathing but without effort.
In the beginning, tomorrow's worry lays down the tile,
in the middle, the liquor builds the protective walls
by the end, the roof is blown off and the stars are my friends.
When the sun pokes through the blinds
my house crumbles.
Commencing the search for a possible plot of land
something sturdy, something stable
or something like dirt, to bury myself under.