the drunken truth

the last little bit of aroma;
fumes spiriting from the tips
of my burning lips
to the edges of my flaring nostrils
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the drunken truth
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i'm taking an alcoholic day,
burned out from life
but still too afraid
of the steel of the knife
hiding beneath my bed;
a sickness still throbbing
in the back of my head,
so i incapacitate myself,
leaving the heartache
on the highest shelf,
drinking,
shrinking
to keep myself down,
to keep the hole from my head
so i can still frown
rather than letting the crimson spill
turning from red, to iron brown
staining my sheets,
ashamed of the heat....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i am too drunk to feel comfortable answering the phone,
an empty bottle sitting next to me while i lay in bed alone
while the majority of me refuses the need to make that fact known
i have a problem and i am falling but the fault i fear to own
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
is it acceptable
to call in sick
because i'd rather
drink than work?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
turning the bottle upside down
letting the last drop drip
from the bottle tip,
a tasty nip
of the fire sip
as my mind gently slips
from insanity
to apathy
and i finally regain
my power over the shame
of losing her
to him.