I always find myself in moments
balanced poetically between control and chaos
With just one sip tipping me over
until I’m more than tipsy
Falling, but the string is snapping
I cant bounce back
(Stumbling out the door
I need to get away
He can’t see me like this)
And as I hit the floor
A bone-crushing silence
And then my own laughter
Uncontrollable
as I’m writhing there
with my broken stilettos
and black mascara running down
my flushed face, pressed into the pavement.
Yet I still can’t stop laughing,
suddenly finding the trivialities of my own existence so ******* funny.
My sanity is outweighed by the bottles
like rocks on the scale
Rising up in patient stillness
Until I fall, and fail.
He wouldn’t want to catch me
So I catch my breath and stand,
My ripped clothes now revealing dried, caked-on blood
(It matches the lipstick stain, still on my glass)
wounds of doubt and delirious self-indulgence.
Now everyone sees it,
knows my self-inflicted secret,
that I wanted myself to fall-
I’ve grown bored of this balancing act.
I pull my coat a little tighter
So he won’t notice that I ripped myself open
With the drinks he bought me,
and walk back into the bar,
because if I went to sleep now
the loneliness would crush me.
and worst of all,
I might miss the way his voice sparkles
At 4 am.