Monday 1/30/2006 10:07:00 PM

One line drawn. Writhing toward. One arrow in your palm deserting reason. In the fist of your clenching heart it struggles to breathe.

We got so drunk that night I completely forgot how hurt I'd been only hours before. We took shots like mouthwash and sucked the taste out of each other's tongues. And I remember being accosted by the thought suddenly. At the edge of orgasm that this was my one and only chance to be happy with him. That soon the alcohol would steal our consciousness. We'd wake up in the middle of the night sober and not wanting to be in that bed together.

And then he'd leave. And he wouldn't come back. I couldn't let him. That he'd never really been there. And no amount of alcohol could displace that fact.

They were so similar. He and the alcohol. In the way that I looked to each of them to love me, but neither actually could.

Where does the arrow point now?

1 comments:
Butterfly Fox said...

The Arrow points.

To You.



| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.