The smooth surface feels like glass

Pressed hard against my wet cheek

Shapes dancing just inside memories

Behind curtains of shame and regret

I see shifting blurs race to and fro

Dripping down the canvas of yesterday

Stripes that don’t last, or change

Bright spots that linger when you blink

Peeling itself off the tapestry, alive

A voice sounding like a lie sounds, unsure

It wavers like quivering jelly in a bowl

Settling into pockets of doubt, worry

The cold surface caressing my belly

I can hear echoes of voices once loud

Real people I’d thrown into the fire

Real moments melted and recycled

Into recollections repurposed, reused

The last thing I remember is nothing

Numb, cold, dark, faded and blurry

Emptiness

Floating in the bottom of my glass

Note: I used to be a binge drinker.   A cycle of drowning insecurity, loosing track, blacking out, hangovers.  I haven’t had a drink in well over a year and I don’t miss it.  I am vividly aware of the damage that can be done and is done while intoxicated.  None of it is worth it.