I am a mess;
and not the beautiful kind.
Not the delicate kind of disaster.
At least
that’s not how I feel
when my eyes are on fire,
heart swollen,
laying in my sheets
clenching a bottle
like it’s your hand.
Drinking to make my hands stop shaking
is not romantic.
I watched my sister drown herself
in vodka and bathroom floors,
thinking it would make everything
seem more beautiful.
The truth is, life just got ugly.
And I feel ugly right now.
Watching the ceiling spin,
drowning in self-pity and my sister’s old ways.
Where am I
and how did I get here?