What Does It Take To Sober Up a Drunk? (#2/3)

”Delirious Tremors”

shaking, unsure, confused; caught in an endless loop
awake, absorbing, falling; unconscious of the truth
doubted, daunted, disabled; vision blurred by lack of breath
watching- fearing instead of acting, wishing only for a quick death
hoping it will come to me before those around me pass
not seeing how i drain them with each sip from the glass
not seeing how our dreams are so intricately entertwined
my intentions distracted, personally miserable- an unrefined temper defined
not seeing through the confusion- fallen, shaking-
too blind to see a day when i will finally awaken
i get up each day to drink and drink each day to sleep
as i immunize myself against the truth within me



“What Does It Take To Sober Up a Drunk? (#2/3)

you left so early that it's too late to tell
whether or not you were gone when i fell
the note you left said simply 'goodbye'
'p.s. i bet you won't remember why'
you're right, i thought, then... what? did we fight?
my head is aching, what happened last night?
i pulled myself up, somewhat dazed and unsteady
searching for clues to the kitchen i headed
an empty bottle of vodka, a half-empty case
another note on the table, cans all over the place
i unfolded the letter and out loud i read
to this day i cannot forget what it said
two pages long and by the end of the first
the shock had hit me and into tears i burst
an account of the events of the previous night
the fight... at least i had guessed that part right
what it said wasn't what i remembered at all
you had warned it would happen but i'd tried to stall
'it,' the inevitable, that final straw
your ultimate reaction to my greatest flaw
you were done with me, you made clear you'd be fine
and maybe me, too, if given some time
i tore up the letter and threw it away
and had that stiff drink left unfinished yesterday
it wasn't so long before that, too, was through
used up, empty- just like me and you
i mixed another... then one more for good measure
i next found myself crying trying to piece it together
not the past night- it was lost- but the letter
the first line of page two claimed it was all for the better
that you were finally happy and i was finally free
that i could drink and be merry if i would stop being me
you hadn't left a number, never said where you were going
what was left of my mind at that point was still hoping
that you hadn't meant it, that you would be back
that you would get where you were going and see that it was i you lacked
i knew that without me you couldn't go on
there i was, content, the battle fought and won
drink number four... (or was it five?) was down
i couldn't really remember so i stopped trying to count
i sat facing the door, vodka bottle firmly in hand
to hell with mixing it- when you got back you'd understand
why it was i wasn't able to move
gulp after gulp sitting waiting for you
i looked at the clock or towards it, rather
i couldn't see it, so my strength i gathered
and i heaved myself up, or, more accurately, down
to that same spot on the floor where this morning i'd found
you to be gone and myself still here
and as my eyes closed i again felt a tear
that sensation, of course, didn't last long
and i passed out knowing it was you who'd done wrong...