Sometimes I want to get so drunk that I can’t remember my name
so drunk that the stink of loneliness can’t be smelled over the scent of fermenting alcohol
so drunk that the sticky fingers of doubt that crawl their way into the crevices of my heart and head
can be smashed by the deep pounding in the back of my spine

I don’t though, I’m too afraid. Too afraid of the fact that life is most likely passing me by as I stand and try to think if it is safe enough to cross the street. Try to decipher between obligations and expectations and connotations.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand how to be lovable, how to be fuckable. How to drink like its cool and how to desirable. How to rinse the loneliness off my skin, how to not believe that I’m going to end up alone.

I don’t understand.

Sometimes I want to get so drunk
So I can drown out the words in the back of my head telling me that the teasing of my friends is true
What?
What?
What if its true?

I want to drink so I don’t have to understand, so I don’t have to try to read between the lines of emotion and attraction and the secret language of men. I don’t want to cling to my face like its my only tool in order to prove the fact that I’m lovable. I don’t want mute my mind so you can feel superior.

I don’t
I don’t
I don’t want to be alone

So what do I do?

I don’t understand

I really want a drink