We used to sit and drown in our
sorrows and chase it with a bottle of whiskey
and the room would spin
like a washing machine
even though our. washing machine itself
was broken
and then she'd call me 'silly bear'
and then she'd rA.ke her nails
all down my back and I'd
look happily scourged
papercut thin seeping wounds
See she left because she was the one
that got away
or really she was the one that smashed
my face into the mirror and made me see
who i really was
and i think that hurts more
Smack Thompson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bottle-rot/
