After Child Support, Got Enough Left To Drink

The sweet taste of kerosene
and the draw of a hand rolled
cigarette
cold comforts of sad music
on the dancing machine
curl around my loss and try to nurse it
the way a mother clings to her stillborn

wishing there was a way to take it back
to undo harsh reality
and the lit match
but
burning bridges and crying over corpses
is a family tradition
another slug of the bottle
crushed the glass to feel it’s shards
slide into my hand
so I could hold its puckered flesh to the reader of palms
ask if my future has as much blood on it
as my past

now

even alcohols burn doesn’t have the same kick
desolate wastelands are the new rage
a holiday destination for the broken
because addiction tastes like the litany of lovers
I no longer covet
the bottle only lets me down when it’s empty
I only let it down when I’m not drinking
relationship forged on easy
where all goals align
there’s no looking for a sign of betrayal
or loss
or the threat of negotiating when and where you can
see your kids

the only thing that matters is the shape of her
the flavour of her
and how she lets me silence
the droning monotone of responsibility
barking it’s demands in the screeching tones of
a jilted lover a nagging wife and a total bitch
whose only goal is to beat you down
with the emotional shackles of your
fucking male privilege

if it wasn’t the easy way out
I’d take these shards of glass
and run my pain out
over the floor
lie in it’s warmth
wait to drift off to sleep
but that would be a waste of alcohol