A Poem that Bleeds

Look at yourself in the mirror. See what you’ve become over all the years. Try to remember the point when you stopped being the “good boy” momma always wanted you to be. It was a long time in the past. Blow a few lines and think about what you should be doing tonight. You should be thinking of going back to school, should be finding a nice girl to make nice kids with, should be thinking about your career. Find the bottle of rum in the refrigerator. The cold dulls the sting in your throat. The neon outside the window reminds you of what you will be doing tonight. Screaming. Shouting. Bleeding ears from music too loud. Bleeding ears from music loud enough to drown out a conscience. Call momma. She doesn’t answer anymore. Stumble into the night where people know your name, but don’t know you. Find places that are familiar. A few shots make it easier to assimilate. Feels like slipping into a warm bath. Feels like dying, one more piece. It slips away, one piece at a time. Fighting for breath, the air is so thick and pungent with the smell of bodies undulating. Screaming faces swirl in the strobe lights, but make no noise. Some show recognition, others desire, others fail to notice. Show them your own silent screaming face. Think about the alternate you, the one that went to bed early because he has to get up early for work, or school, or church, or... Realize that the alternate you does not exist, and may never exist. Feel the pain of that realization. Kill it with a few more shots, or a few more lines in the bathroom. It gets easier to silence that voice every day. Repeat. Stumble home when it dies. It doesn’t matter if alone or not. Feel just as empty either way. Stare at red eyes in the bathroom mirror. Cry yourself to sleep.