The flare of pain at the base of my spine
distracts me from the sharper pain
Of losing you.

Each evening I numb myself with wine,
It slops into the glass
And makes me think of angry tears.

Social butterfly, I whirl into the city
Wearing my fake face,
And ready for excess.

I need to be gentled
Away from these destructive interventions,
Does someone have a cure for the cure?