I treated my skin like a goddess
Legs shaved, hands moisturized,
Any spot of acne scrubbed away and covered over with pale sheets
But I hid from my spine, like a snake always a few inches behind me, waiting to strike
This skin there was a poorly applied veneer,
Exaggerating the flaws it was meant to hide
The snake is in constant motion, waving an S up the core of my being,
Displaying my instability
It's curved, like the ridges of the Grand Canyon
Only more unnatural,
Un beautiful,
More like a line you tried to draw straight
Only when it wavered just a little too much, you threw it away and started over
I cannot start over
My snake drags venom along its body, instead of drooling it into a bite
And he is always biting,
So the skin on my back has never been touched
Never been pampered, or savored.

So anyway
the world seems to fit this specific rotation
where I found myself sitting on this bar stool
ordering
well you know,
not alcohol because,
that one thing my body does so well
is shut down
start peeing blood
not process anything
it just kind of gives up,
constantly,
I mean you remember,
that time you took me to the ER,
How I couldn't stand up and they kept telling me it was going to be ok
but I just looked at you and bleakly smiled because I knew it wasn't
this is my
slow decline
incredibly painful,
younameit

so,

clearing my throat and saying
"just put some fizzy water in a glass and throw a lime in it, it's not that hard and don't look at me like that"


The dive bar
God, it was your dive bar
they were even playing that one song you
played for me on the car stereo
the happy one,
the one I always picture you driving with your one hand on the steering wheel
sun shining on us
that ******* one
and the bartender she rolled her eyes, walked off


I saw this reflection in the mirror
the one right behind the bar
while the neon red light
illuminated my eyes
in that moment
this whiskey taste hit the back of my throat
your sweat, your voice,
all of it, taking over my entity
without my consent I was stuck in
the notes that stung
tickled my tonsils
I could feel you
I swear
you had to have been sitting in this exact spot
an hour or so ago
and the reflection was so used to
you filling this space
it almost just shot an image back of you
at me

I wanted to call you
write you
send you one of those long emails
we used to spend hours typing to each other
to seem profound
to rationalize our mental health by simply stating
"well,
we're writers"
but then I remembered the last thing you said to me
it was more of a question
and I thought about
how selfish that was
"can
we
still..?"
the anger just bubbled from there

it rose to my chest
and I lifted my hand up and said
"actually can you make it a whiskey?"
"a double?

..?"
and I waited for her to roll her eyes again,
walk to the bar,
grab the cheapest well whiskey I've ever seen
and pour it heavy over two ice cubes


You would have liked that.
Im sure you're ordering that right now.

I pulled the shot back
waited for it to hit
quickly requested a Lyft to the nearest hospital

because I knew
in
ten minutes
it would
send me spiraling
and I would be there again
in that same room
where you laid still
and I tried to sleep
to not ***** on you
to kind of just pretend this wasn't a memory
I'd have to actively force myself to forget
as I frequented the same sterile supplies
day in
day out


the room where you chewed on the words
and spit them back out at me
detailing the world I actively live in
the one where
where my body is a ticking time bomb
and not a subplot for your novel

but as I rode with the windows rolled down

I still missed you
I hated myself
I wanted another whiskey
I wanted that reflection again
because at least


that would make this all
feel closer
This would all make a little more sense
and maybe I could forgive you
forgive myself
stop recreating each moment
like I was stuck in a perpetual hell
Because it had to have meant something
it shouldn't just sting.