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Holy Drawer

Like my feelings I keep my whiskey hidden Deep within the wooden drawers of my desk Under old drawings And behind art supplies It beckons to me Each night Welcoming me when I arrive home Tired And worn out from another long shift at the restaurant I always tell myself Not tonight Not tonight But I lose focus the second I step within those four walls The whiskey speaks to me Calling me out by name To remind me of our misguided friendship “I’ll make you feel better” It whispers Each night And I can never ignore the call of an old friend It’s smooth and warm As it slides down my throat Sinking into my belly And tingling with strength up my spine Melting into my brain Instant relief But always temporary “Why are you like this?” I ask it But mostly myself An open-ended question I will never get an answer to If it’s not one thing it’s another Sex Drugs Music Men I live in excess Only existing long enough to fill this void This open wound That spills over into every aspect of my life And never fully heals It re opens each time I take a sip A hit A touch Never enough And never again I know these things But act otherwise “I have control” “This time is different” I tell myself But it’s not true It never is And it never will be I lie to make me feel better I lie to make you feel better Because deep down This wound that never heals This wound that tears me apart every morning as I lay awake Is as real as that hidden bottle The only thing left That reminds me I’m human I’m only human, after all.

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