“I gotta quit drinking”
Words waiting
for a suck back
to chords,
like infantile
promises
of bed making.
That statement
was born
after the Advil
and the gallon jug
of rehydration,
and my tears
from a four AM
realization
that the breathing
in the room
was the dog’s
gentle snore.
Not an eyelash
flicks,
only tightened
jaw
at your sad
resolution.
No hopeful
register
for the fake!
I watched
those words hang
like colored gas
in a stagnant freeze,
as if waiting
for the signal
for return
to the belly,
where good intentions
go
to die.
The words waited…
and panted…
grew impatient
at exhalations
containing
no rescue.
Screaming
with regret,
they dissipated
into the air…
becoming fact.
After a week,
I’m ashamed
that I hate
the change.
Codependent.
|
Submission Name: Codependent
