the problem with
drinking to cope
is that after you’ve
coped
it’s easy enough
to keep drinking

i’m teetering
on the edge of
alcoholism
but saying that to
anyone sounds
too ****
dramatic

baristas and bartenders
daughters of artists
daughters of…
i can never come up
with the next line
right on the edge of my brain

so much for
never having had a
hangover before
five am in the morning
my heart racing
mouth dry

the signs don’t fit me
i keep a fully stocked bar
and i get up in the morning
and go to work

but it doesn’t sit right
the fact that the first drink
doesn’t hit the way it used to
the way that it’s the first
thing i pour when i
walk in the door

guess this is my
roaring twenties

(sometimes i wish
it was covid again
everyone was drinking
and everyone was happy about it)

i blinked
missed it
ended up
twenty five
and drunk
now
it’s time to
sober up

but it goes
deeper than that

i quit drinking
kind of
like dozens
of times before

only drank
two nights
this week
but instead of waking
up alert
bright eyed and
bushy tailed
i woke up the same

sluggish and tired
and the only difference
was that i hadn’t
drunk myself into
a peaceful stupor
the night before

tonight he asked
what i was
going to do
about it

besides drinking
harder and harder
and watching more
and more mash

he wasn’t asking
directly
about the
wounds on my legs
but i could hear
what he meant

but i’m an adult now
so i hurt myself
and i don’t talk about it
because strong people
don’t put their
problems on others

(talking about why
i don’t talk about it
is going too far back
too old a scar to pick at)

so i don’t
talk about it
because i’m
an adult

baristas and bartenders
daughters of artists
a disappointment
that just keeps going

he told me my
state of mind
isn’t a personal failing
but it seems to me
like all i’ve ever done
is make myself worse

there’s a
buzzing
in the back
of my throat

might be
words
trying to
escape

don’t
talk
about
it

whatever
i do

i can’t
talk
about
it

my heartbeat
is a high hat
whose edges
don’t quite meet

it’s sharp
an arrhythmic
clap of
a tambourine
hitting
my palm

none if it
makes sense
never did
never will

pieces spliced
and pasted back together
i don’t know
who i am anymore
or why i’m here
only one thing rings true

life is just one
**** thing after
another
except far too
often the
**** things overlap