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The Ocean
Flask in hand, eyes glassy.
The floor beneath me feels like the ocean, and I have yet to earn my sailors feet.
As it churns, so does my stomach
belly full of alcohol, eating away my pain,
burning through my inhibitions like a debauched flame.
The stool hits a particularly large wave and I'm suddenly staring face to face with a canvas of scarred wood, mottled with old gum, peanut shells and
spots of red
My nose aches
I must be in a sea,
There's liquid on my face, copper in my mouth
Am I swimming?
Or falling?
And if I'm swimming, let me sink to the bottom of the abyss, weightless
Life has abandoned me like an infant bird,
corrupted by the touch of another
its mother no longer recognizes it as her own
Head is pounding, needles tap dance behind my eyelids
Somewhere, far away, I hear a garbled laugh
(It sounds familiar)
These people look at me, eyes swirling in their sockets, like tipsy olives on a stick in my glass
I bet they want me, the lot of them
Oh, but those people with their silly hands and ugly, twisted faces, faces that jeer- they will never get me.
Not now
Not ever again.
I'll drink to that.
Bartender, pour me another!
