When He’s Just A “Little” Bit Of An Alcoholic

Nick Harris
Nick Harris

When he makes a soft joke about his addiction,
coats it in a layer of honey that makes it something you can swallow,
Kiss his throat.
Pull the whisky from his tongue and lather it on yours.
He tells you you’re Sandy from Grease,
a good girl with a darkness waiting to come out.
He closes doors and opens shutters.
Tell him you’re not a good girl.
But think of calling your mom after you say it.
Wish you had a designated driver,
a 911 you could call to say
“I’m in over my head and he smells like day old beer but I want to love him even harder.”
Kiss his whisky tongue.
You don’t even really like whisky.
But he has the kind of taste you’re pretty sure sirens use to drown sailors
or boys who don’t text back
or men who come clothed in excuses, but still undress you happily.

When he needs to be drunk to be with you,
Drink with him.
Fuck him and wait until he’s gone to cry.
See haunting traces of your grandfather.
Cut your legs shaving and watch the line of crimson race against the shower water.
Wonder if your blood is like your grandfather’s.
Remember the way he was found.
Remember the way he showed up to Father’s Day.
Remember the vow to not drink until you turned 21.
Remember you kept that vow.
Ask yourself why you felt the need to make that vow.
Drink the whisky tongue of the same boy.
A different boy,
But the same whisky tongue.

When he calls himself an alcoholic,
and laughs afterwards,
Laugh with him.
But throw away every bottle in the house while he sleeps.
Fear his reaction when he wakes.
Run.
Keep running.
Don’t ever look back. TC mark

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Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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