Cheap wine and sorry.

Of course there are softer things, like him, but I rose from ash. I am kind when I am high. I have seen girls cut their wrist with bottles, I don't follow them into the bathroom. everyone bleeds alone, everyone bleeds alone. Everyone drew themselves a bath and sat with water to their collarbones and thought of how, everyone have a short torso and drink too much whenever they can get their hands on alcohol and this is why you know nothing about the pills or the starving or the only time I saw my father cry. You never know what piece of night will become lodged between your ribs and I can taste the insecurities lingering on his lips, and they taste like all the pain he keep holding. His ears must be bleeding from all the whispers but my month only could say

"How about a cheap wine and sorry?"

I was neck deep in water, wine and apologies and although I'm not Christ, I couldn't differentiate the red liquid from the clear and the defining moment was when I couldn't repent my sins. I cried to my father tonight over the mirror, or the lack thereof since my fist tried to create a black hole to see if the shattered glass would represent stars when it shimmered and I could go back to summer and they say shit just got you and I guess they were right. I broke people's heart a day later since I got them into my lies like I forgot a feeling is also a thing. I know I told a boy "grape soda and cigarettes when you're lonely" as like you could smoke till you can't feel the chill of anything. I practiced falling in love by keeping my front door unlocked but sleeping with a baseball bat at my bedside and now whenever I'm asked to talk about it the only things I can choke out are bitter air and shards of stained glass but I'm neck deep in water, wine and apologies, I apologize too much like it all could get him back instead of driving my car far and fast, so fast that I am scaring myself with the music up as loud as it can go, Elvis Presley is playing on the record player and I am naked with rollers in my hair sitting on the ground and thinking what it would be like if I loved him hard or, wasn't at all.

I spent twice the amount of time loving him as he did it first to me but now I cannot touch him and I think of daytime when I think about him and also the sun was in his hair and the sweet pillow talk about the future those cracks on the wall, the ones that mimic the palms, they were there purposefully, or maybe not on purpose. But I don't remember coming home the night they appeared, and I just remember I drank the vodka like water and I couldn't get his damn name off my tongue since the sober him more drank than I was.

Water, wine and apologies

And shit darling,
now I drink a cheap wine alone myself 

trying to get


                 my.

                       own.

                              fucking.

                   sorry.





(rinzsu)