Alcohol tastes better than the thought of you and her
To burn my throat
To wash your taste
Off my tongue.
To keep my head spinning
To blur the memories
Of nights past.
To numb my skin
To erase the feeling
To fill my mouth
To keep me from speaking
I will never have
This is how to run a stick of ChapStick
down the black boxes on your scantron
so the grading machine skips the wrong
answers. This is how to honor roll. Hell,
this is how to National Honor Society.
This is being voted ‘Most Likely to Marry
for Money’ or ‘Talks the Most, Says the
Least’ for senior superlatives. This is
stepping around the kids having panic
attacks in the hallway. This is being the
kid having a panic attack in the hallway.
This is making the A with purple moons
stamped under both eyes. We had to try.
This is telling the ACT supervisor you have
ADHD to get extra time. Today, the average
high school student has the same anxiety
levels as the average 1950’s psychiatric
patient. We know the Pythagorean theorem
by heart, but short-circuit when asked
‘How are you?’ We don’t know. We don’t
know. That wasn’t on the study guide.
We usually know the answer, but rarely
The circles under my eyes only got bigger.
The emptiness in my eyes only got deeper.
The sadness inside of me only got stronger.
I could feel every bad thing getting bigger and bigger and I couldn’t think of how to stop it.
I drowned in shots of vodka but you’re still on my mind.