A Wishful Drunk

A Wishful Drunk

 “I wish I were brave 
enough to be a drunk”
 These words staggered
 through the 
 lamp lit alleyways
 of my darkened mind 
 as I clung to the solemn 
barstool of loneliness. 
 Here there is no giddy chantee 
to lighten the mood
 no psychiatrist bartender
 to divulge with
 nor the vascular
 flutter of intoxicated freedom 

 If I could distill 
my experience down, 
 I'm the perpetual 
state of closing time.
 With nowhere to go, 
 and nowhere to call home.
 Vicariously I live through 
my family's valor
 Drinking is my 
masochistic mother’s tongue. 
 But I dare not speak it
 The ember imbued Star of David 
 Remains hidden in my cupboard 
 Like a motel 
bedside table Bible

 I’m a refugee in my own skin
 Unable to pursue the 
very liquid courage 
 That could suffice all my fears
 For even just
 the slightest of moments
 
 I’m not disciplined 
 I’m not courageous 
 Or even prudent
 I’m just scared 

 Scared of what
 I've witnessed it do
 Scared of what I long
 for it to do to me 
 But I’m so fucking thirsty

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