when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic

when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic everyone is a drink

beware. when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic we consume you and everything about you. we will push and play you like flutes.

i will touch you and pull you towards me and when you go down you will go down so hard and fast you wont even know you’ve already been consumed.

but i will know. protect yourselves. thicken your skins. wear a watch. we are not known for keeping time well.

when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic every situation is one ripe for the picking apart. any situation can become one full of possibilities and none of them good but all of them fucking sweet.

when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic it can be trying when he’s not available at the ready. like a Smirnoff in a Ketel One bottle you expect your moment of relish and delirium only to feel betrayed when hes not there.

when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic you try not to remember the first time you got drunk but you always remember the first time you took that drink.

and when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic you are not a flexible person. you are extremely averse to change. you drink your drinks. and it goes and it goes. all the same.

until the day it does not.

when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic and the drink is no longer a drink it is one of the worst kinds of betrayals in the world. you’ve had your Ketel One and you don’t feel better, you don’t feel soothed, you don’t feel healed, you don’t feel alive.

you don’t feel loved.

watch out because when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic and you show your human hand be prepared for an onslaught of rage you may have never known the likes of before.

when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic everyone is the love of your goddamn life and your most loathed enemy.

when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic the love, the lust, the wonder, the laughter, the scrapes, the fucks, the tears, the vomit, the spittle, the blurs, the crashes, the glass, the fingernails embedded with dead skin from chapped lips, the bruises from dont-know-where-or-who, the sex and the almost sex and the i-didn’t-say-yes-or-no-sex, all of it, all tastes so fucking delicious no matter how hot and bitter it may burn.

when you’re (in love with) an alcoholic who gets sober you can go to AA and you can pray but you will never get rid of the passion, the obsession for everything to go go go and be be be right right right then then then there there there and god help the man in her heart and in her way.

if he dares to touch her she may never let his hand come back.