blunts and bottles free write

blunts and bottles,
because the sound of your voice in my head is too loud, i’m applying pressure to keep all this white noise out
shots as a chaser chase away the demon of love i thought i felt for you
every time i call you i’m running out of things to say
how can two people go from lovers to complete strangers,
when did we change
when did i stop having things to say to fill the air between us
when did we change
when did i
blunts and bottles
i went from depressed to happy to self loathing to damn near suicidal
taking loud blunts to the head, turned 21, steady always kept a bottle
white noise, just static, i don’t understand it, the things youre speaking,
why the fuck are you bringing up old shit, there’s nothing to talk about
and “if and buts” but this ain’t so we’re not,
and we can’t ever be again, can we?
my face in the broken mirror haunts me more than anything
the ER waiting room that I swore within I hated you
and thoughts of sex just aren’t the same these days
reality and fantasy, the line is blurred for me
the reality is that you and i have changed and fantasies that things could be different keep me awake;
blunts and bottles,
and i drink more than i smoke these days,
i have holes in my memory, between the first shot, and the hangover
9 hours sober, that’s the waiting limit
i remember you when i’m high but not when i’m lit
i hear your voice when i’m chillin’, i’d rather be t’d up
i’m learning when enough is enough, so i push myself until i’m too far gone,
and i want what we had, but i don’t know how to find it, i want more than what we lost, but you can’t be the one to give it to me,
who can give it to me then?
who can give me what i gave you?
it’s that thought when i’m fucked up that compels me to roll another blunt, take another shot, because i’m thinking too much, blunts and bottles,
because the sound of your voice in my head is too loud, i’m applying pressure to keep all this white noise out
shots as a chaser chase away the demon of love i thought i felt for you
every time i call you i’m running out of things to say
how can two people go from lovers to complete strangers,
when did we change,
when did i stop having things to say,
when did we change?

trying to understand the sound of static,
white noise of various frequencies i can’t translate
blunts and bottles have me pulling translations out thin air
to justify
that i’m too lit to answer your call right now
or ever listen to the voicemail
–running out of things to write and say again
scene.

-M.M.

Copyright, Marie Meyers, 2017. All Rights Reserved.

 

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