We,
who watched them,
down bottle after bottle.

We,
who are afraid to look
at a mirror, simply because
we’re scared to see
the alcoholic who raised us.

To all of us who don't look,
knowing we'll only
​see our predecessors -
those who couldn't stay sober
enough to raise us -
instead of seeing change.

I didn’t ask to be assaulted with words
When you knew all too well that there was more than 15 bottles in my system
And my feet couldn’t find a way to walk a straight line.
“You only say ‘I love you’ when you’re drunk.”
I forced my drooping eyelids open to look at you
And I wanted to laugh.
It was past 2am on a Friday and I was lying down on my threadbare sofa
Your hands pushing a bucket towards me because you know me

You know me too well.
You know that on Thursdays the commute home was faster and the jeep would drop me off by the bar a street down from my cruddy apartment.
You know that I like this denim jacket you have because it has a pizza stitched onto it.
You know that my wallet is practically begging me to stop at the third shot but my heart won’t have any of it.
You know that no matter what, I will dance to Pussycat Dolls whenever they come on, even if I’m in the most contaminated restroom to exist.

But you don’t know
Of the way my head screams over the pounding of the music whenever you say her name.
Of the words that get stuck in my throat every single time you close the door behind you.
Of the times I wanted to know what it was like to have you near me when I wake up.
Of how I wanted to sing the cheesiest songs to you in the karaoke room.
Of how I closed my eyes in the presence of the night stars when I could hear how happy you were.

Sometimes my mind wanders to the thought of your lips on mine and your hands on my spine
But I remember that you said that she tasted like a fallen heaven
And I remember that I must taste like the loneliness of rain

You know that I fill in the gaps of my life with paint splatters in the colors of the sea
You know that there are tunes I will remember even when I’ve long forgotten the words
You know how my smile barely ever reaches my eyes
You know who I am.
Who am I anyways?
The sober girl who knows
That the only time I can hold your hand
Is when I get drunk enough to say “I love you”

So I say it again and again and again.
Because now you will laugh it off and say I’m drunk
Because you will forget about it the next day
Because when I’m sober
I can look at you with clear eyes and know
That you only say “I love you” when I’m drunk.

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?

Clover and Dover
Cliffs and boulders
I shall fall over

Sober to the pinch
Water pours into my sores
Soul is sold

Lifelessness in sobriety
Awake but not alive
The nightmare has arisen fourfold

missing each other is only expressed after
one too many drinks
When our blood turns to alcohol
The words flow easier from our mouths
when the world spins
out from under our feet
the ground falls away
and there is sits; how we truly feel
sober thoughts scare me.
Just say it. Say what you mean
Tell me, please. You go first

I attempted to translate our love in every possible language my mind could handle.
How we laid on the carpet, hands intertwined, eyes locked on each other’s souls.

My stomach churned, my heart beat escaped into your palms.
I had drank the night before,
You could tell, because my eyes wanted to portray innocence, but you knew.
Yet, I wanted to drink your love instead,
It was just as bitter.
Just as unhealthy, with the complements of the same regret the next morning.

I suppose those stamps on my neck never helped either.
The way you managed to **** the life out of me was inexplicably wonderful.
But it hurt later.

Or how my lips tasted like you, I never loved the taste,
But I told you I did.
I lied, you knew.

That night, when you went home, questioning me.
I mosied on over to the glow of my stove light,
Allowed my hand to marry the egg white bottle,
They looked like little sugars,
But I got nothing sweet from it.

Down the hatch.

I called you, against my wall dizzy, giggling.

You love me when you’re lost, you told me,
You love me, you want me when you’re not you, you told me, you yelled.

I passed out that night,
You called me to check up,
And I could not recall what happened,
Or why I loved you.

So I walked over to that stove light,
Hoping the bottle would help me remember,
Just so I could taste you once more, and not feel guilty for never loving you sober.

if i took a shot
for every time
i wanted you
but couldn't have you
i don't think
i would ever
be sober

s.s