"I don't drink"

There was a time when those words were true

But now. . . 

Well, not so much.

 

Now I love the feeling

Of drowning in a sea of fog,

On neither side of that thin line

Between blackness and memories

 

Where nothing matters

As much as it did before

That fourth or fifth shot

On a Tuesday night.

 

"I don't do this a lot,

Almost never on weeknights,"

I insist.

"Just tonight it's okay. We're celebrating."

 

First a birthday

Of a friend,

The next day 

One of someone I don't know at all.

 

My meds don't like it.

Headache is worse,

Nausea is worse.

Everything is worse.

 

But only after

Those brief moments of bliss,

Of almost-but-not-quite-nothingness,

And I think maybe it's worth it

 

To sleep without feeling his hands

Wandering over

Four year old me.

To sleep without dreams.

 

It was the third time in as many days.

And for the first time I can see

That people aren't addicted to alcohol

But to what comes right after