"can I see you tonight?"

already **** well knowing what the answer will be.

still I ask,

because I don't think you know what you do to me, tracing the grain of your skin... you don't know how long I've waited for you, I'd pass the time drinking gin.

you used to move me
like sweet notes sung by a violin
but I can't wait forever,
my patience is wearing thin.

walking on these egg shells, trying not to crack
when all I want to do is yell
"you're absolutely crushing my heart, please give it back."

"I didn't think to ask"
you say; isn't that such a shame?
when you look can't you see the discrepancies between us?
does it not shake and rattle your brain?

I wouldn't think twice to climb a mountain for you in the pouring rain,
but honestly, sweetheart...
I don't think you'd do the same.

and that's alright,
because this is my domain,
I now make the rules to this game.

things will be different, I'm not going to lie.

this is what happens when I'm made to color inside the lines.

A calendar is but blank white boxes lined up in a perfect row, full of promise and opportunity. My calendar is illegible, completely blacked out, written in a forgotten language.

Days no longer awaken me slowly or softly. Days speed by like a racecar hitting my brain and running my guts over.

I’ve learned to befriend the bottle, as whiskey knows all my secrets, and ***** is a close friend of mine. Drinking is the cure all to end all.

It wasn’t always this way. Halfway between a split second and an eternity ago, the world went quiet.
Have you ever met a ghost? Someone so infectious with energy, but disappears faster than your last cigarette.  As soft as spring comes, as does the slow lull of sadness.

So to death, I drink. I party as the demons want. I sip until I’m sick. Stare upon my corpse, make peace with the unknown. I one day will have my little ghost back again.

As I appear before you, not quite dead, but certainly not alive. Who will teach me to fear the abyss, to no longer be one with the void? Until I can learn to no longer dance with the devils, I sit alone at the bar. Unseen to the world, with blind eyes turned from every direction. Sorrow is more attentive than bliss.

What’s a life,
If you’re going to throw it away,
With yourself down the bottle.
Is it worth the 9 months,
Just to see,
The baby carried away with cold feet?
Because YOU couldn’t stop drowning your sorrows,
Bottle By Bottle.
Now you may get a living one,
But what is to be of he/she,
Will they not be able to talk,
Or just an addict meant to be.
Now the first sip of alcohol
Will be the last first goodbye,
To the baby you never gave a chance,
To have a normal life.
So will you just put down the bottle,
To save the unborns life?
Or will you drink away your sorrows,
Thinking everything will turn out right?