The first time I blacked out I was with you.
I'd never drank in front of you before and I only had a few, but you brought me more.
My intentions were only to forget the **** going on inside of my head.
So three because twelve and the room began to spin,
But not at first.
At first I was light, my body was not my own, I felt this power and you called me beautiful.
I was in total control...
Then, I wasn't.
I laughed loudly and I shouted to speak,
I talked about nothing's and got caught up in the sheet.
I could not walk so I started to crawl, to check my phone, if I'd missed a call.
I started to repeat myself, over and over again.
You realized I was done for and took me to your bed instead.
You laid me down and cradled my face, you shook me to snap me out.
"I'm in control, I've got this, I'm in control, I've got this" repeating, pouring from my lips.
The lips you leaned down and tenderly kissed.
My mind reacted but my lips could not move, they kept talking about control and about you.
"You love him, but he doesn't love you, you love him, but he doesn't love you" repeating, flowing from my mouth.
You left the room, left me alone, you couldn't handle my doubt.
A whole hour later you came back to me, I was still talking, repeating, repeating.
"Nobody loves you, just die, nobody loves you, just die" catching on the breath that left as I spoke.
You sat next to me and on my words I began to choke.
You shook me really hard and smacked at my face lightly.
I came into consciousness and then fell into sleep silently.

​”I am addicted.
She is my bottle of *****.
She is my cookie crumbs.
She is the eighth colour of my rainbow.
The colour that’s everywhere,
Except inside the rainbow.
She is my three A.M.
The three A.M. pain I write about,
And the three A.M. calls I don’t make.
She is my happy ever after.
The happy ever after in a fairytale,
In those tales for my three A.M. kid,
In those stories for my four A.M. demons,
In those lullabies for my five A.M. drowsy eyes.
She is my sushi.
She is my ‘one eyelash – one wish’.
She is my 11:11 ‘Wish, please come true’.
She is my cigarette.
Here’s the ******* problem.
I’m addicted.
And she’s my nicotine patch.”

I drowned myself in a bottle of *****
so I could feel, or not to feel
There are eleven cigarette butts in the trash
so now my room reeks like smoke
It's still better than the smell of blood
Though my brother wasn't too happy
that I stole all his liquor,
he still thinks that the stains in my sheets
are better than the deep red ever was
Even if they're *****

yesterday i got blood on my jeans
from opening the scrape on my knee
i got three days ago, slipping in the shower,
drunk as hell before noon.
my dad told me to leave the rest of his beer
after i took five in twenty four hours.
i wonder if he realizes how bad i am.
i have to have at least one drink
before i see anyone, just to loosen up.
i drink throughout the day,
not caring what time i start.
my boy expressed concern
about all my empty beer cans.
i decided six hours ago
i would take a break from drinking
but my friend gave me a jelly jar of *****
and i keep telling her i’ll stop, as i pour another.
“i’m going to not drink for two weeks,”
i say as my speech begins to slur.
how many will be my ‘last drink?’
will i make it two weeks?
will i care? does it ******* matter?
there will always be new blood on my jeans.

Twenty-nine belts bravery from a bottle.
It feels like all talk and no game.
Twenty-nine has thighs that don't lie
and a finger that motions you
to come closer.
It relearns each facet of love
and finds beauty in its own reflection.
Twenty-nine betters the invention
instead of reinventing it.
It imagines kissing strangers to feel alive and
gifts the pearl to the jewel thief
with no words- only smiles.
Twenty-nine strikes a match
in the middle of a pitch black nowhere,
only to see the smoke twist up and away.
It cracks and hisses when it feels its been forgotten.
It smells like pine needles, orange peel, and sun bleached cotton.
Twenty-nine forgets those who have forgotten it
but thanks them for the lessons.
It likes church but only for the music, architecture, and sociology.
Twenty-nine won't apologize for passion or pity,
but it will drip with empathy at inopportune times.
Twenty-nine steeps itself in scalding water
only to discover its true flavor.
It finds no comfort in the opinions of others
but will only rest at the signal of a nod of approval.
Twenty-nine looks down into the neverending
and can't decide if it wants to jump or run.
It handstitches a parachute
as it dangles one foot over the edge,
says a prayer to no god
but writes hymns that bring tears.
Twenty-nine keeps breathing.
It keeps breathing.

Addiction is a funny thing
I was perfectly clean for years, sober for years
But I could smell the alcohol in the hand sanitizer at the movie theater
I went home and poured a ***** on the rocks with a lime
I have not seen you in ten years, but one simple touch of yours and I was an addict again
What I am trying to say is I think I love you again.

If you follow all the sirens
and the red flags
you'll see what the news papers would call a man
but not really.
just a boy with a beard
pretending he knows how to put things back together
pushing the people he loves towards alcoholism
like it was all he was good for


//


I used to think love triumphed over all
But I'm starting to doubt the sincerity
of love
and all its trimmings.

Why do we romanticize love
It's not ever the fever dream we hype it up to be.
It's vulnerability in it's purest form
It's done more harm than good.

I'm selling my stocks on love

I'm done pretending I understand how the world works.
I'm done celebrating before I cross the finish line.
I'm done believing in something that I'm not sure is real.

I'm selling my stocks on love.

I have become the friend that my parents used to tell me to stay away from.
My last name is "bad influence", with a hyphen.

With a lit cigarette in one hand and a bottle of ***** in the other one I run down the street,
bare feet,
laughing.

I curse the moment when I sober up,
knowing full well that my intoxication was just a weak attempt on my side to make myself feel something.

Your mother said that I was a bad influence on you.
But I have to wonder...
Am I really that bad?