Small Worlds

When your world gets this small it's hard to recover from. I mean, I tried. Really, I did. That was the point of the alcohol. To open the world to me. To open me to it.

But it's long since lost its splendor. Even it, can't save me now.

The sober world is a conundrum, especially when feelings are entered into the equation. There is no solution. Only variables that attack from all sides.

I try to love them. Give them a reason to love me back. But I fail more as each hour passes. Moreso when there's no drug to soften this shell.

I'm not who they think I am. So different from the pliable drunk they know.

I'm bitter and I'm resolute. Certain pain is all they have to give.

So I try to be different. And sometimes I succeed. Tuck away all those fears. Drown then in chemical waves. And we apply ourselves to one another. Temporary tattoos. Hoping skin will remember the better images, but knowing that it won't.

Some didn't want to know me enough. And it hurt. All that lack of interrest. When I was so intent on knowing them. Others still wanted to know me too well. And they did. Sad for them. Sadder for me still, to know they tried, but I couldn't let them.

It's a small world. Always has been. And it's shrinking fast.