Whisky stained sheets,
And blood stained memories
Of nights I wish I could long forget;
But scars tell the path of your hand,
My body, like the map of voyages
From vodka, to scotch, to cocaine;
Limp and helpless,
I let your fists draw on me;
Pound my skin to fit your topography;
Broken bones to form the valleys,
And welts rise as mountains;
I let your words cut deep,
Like daggers into my crumbling psyche,
And you’ll have me hanged, drawn and quartered,
Trembling in your presence;
I’ll smile and lie to cover my pain;
Cover the color you bring around my eye
And steal from my soul;
Cover my brokenhearted fears
That tomorrow may never come;
Yet for some reason I’ll stay,
Hoping you will love me sober
© 2014 – V. A. Coote