The liquor wafted its way
scorching the dimly lit path.
His hot and heavy breath pounced
on the back of my neck,
burning worse than his throat as he
tossed back one shot after the other.

I am scared, but I remain calm.
I do not want him to have the satisfaction
that men like him get from a hunt.
I wonder if he can sense my hesitance,
or if he is so utterly intoxicated.
the kind of intoxication that excuses such behavior.

the night is made
to say things we never meant
we intoxicate our bodies
transform it on its true self

i think it is funny
how when the sun is up
we walk around praising our life
caring for what the world thinks
pretending to be what we are not
putting on masks
so thick that you could never
ever tell they are fakes

but then the sun goes down
and shine its true light
on the moon
poisoning our veins
luring our hearts
to beat faster
and sing the truth out loud
making us confess
what we would later deny with light

maybe
when you left
those scars
on my heart
i became
a beautiful poet.