A Plea to Stay Gone

I’ve kissed more bottles

than I have people, in my lifetime.

I’ve searched and searched

for the happiness

at the bottom of those bottles.

And came up empty handed

every single time.

The only lesson I’ve learned,

is that a hangover hurts a hell

of a lot less than any heartbreak.

I’ve become so good

at lying to everyone around me.

But I cannot lie to the hole

inside of my chest.

I take shots like its Novocaine.

Trying to numb the pain.

To quiet the voices.

To fill the void. 

Maybe I feel empty because I left

pieces of myself

in everything I used to love.

Is there a word for sucker-punching

someone in the heart?

There should be.

I can only fill so many words

Into a postcard,

In a phone call,

In a space.

Before I realize once again,

that words are sometimes

used for things other

than filling the emptiness.

I’m done blocking it out.

Drinking myself numb.

I am going to let myself feel.

It’s going to rip me apart.

But at the end, I will get up,

and keep breathing.

Keep moving.

One breath at a time.

One day at a time.

I am not okay, but I am alive.

And I will be okay one day.

I’m holding on to that.

I am going to take the knife

from my own back

and use it to cave my initials

in the tree at the top of the highest mountain.

I am going to survive.