Drunk.

Glass bottles tipped upward

Trying to be warmed

By the hot summer sun

Before being trashed

With their friends.

As we get trashed with our friends

The light gets brighter

As we slip more into darkness

In the art of repetition

I draw my arms up

Wrap them around you

Tell me you love me

I whisper

To the nobody

That’ll take me home tonight.

Make me into the night.

I wish I could forget tonight

But I’m never too far gone

To remember

Faces and names and numbers

Of how many times

I’ve been laid

Down

By someone

Who couldn’t care less

That I was so careless.

A drunken damsel in distress.

Stumbalina.

A passed out

Passed up

Fucked up

Fucked out

Dressed up

To dress down

But there’s no dressing up

The bitter fact:

Whore.

And as I lay here

On the stone cold

Cold stone floor

As I linger from dawn to dusk

And float in between sober and drunk

I find myself contemplating

Life and death.

So I reach for the bottle

But grabbed the gun instead.

And instead of turning up

I loaded the lead

In an act of desperation

I put the gun to my head.

Pain from my past

Rolled down my cheeks

My stomach was turning summersaults

My knees went weak.

And the trigger under my finger

Felt miles away.

And it felt like forever

Before I decided

To pull it anyway.