On my knee’s, bowing down to her vindictiveness
Bottle in one hand and my thoughts in her head.
Realizing the inevitable.
“I found it by mistake honestly”
And I stare at it, smell it, even analyse it’s transparency,
as it circulates around my room and knocks me out with it’s personified character.

When finally, I rise to the bait
I wake up alone in a different place,
Scared to enter and fear of knowing that I will be knocked over
Twice by my own mother and of course her bottle,
Which she so desperately tried to hide from my view
Only because she couldn’t admit,
as it slowly decomposed under my bed, the predictable place.
And there it stayed.

Until the stupidity of discovering was repeated.
Yet I entered the tragedy with my head raised high, higher than the bottle she aimed so accurately at my face, that was already broken. Why did I continue?
Because I loved her
Because I gave her addiction a reason to fight me
To hurt me.
It was like throwing wood onto a fire, it fuelled her need,
her anger and her frustration of being something she and I both loathed.

And everyday I continued to find the bottle,
Until it finally stopped,
It was the day she left.
Two hundred and forty times I commended to this
And two hundred and forty times I was defeated.
“Victoriously left for a whisky bottle” I sniggered.
Detached from normality,
I found it amusing.

03/20/2003

Author's Note: I'm trying not to be repetitive in my work but alcoholism is just unfortunetly something I've had to deal with. I am sure this subject matter will continue to be shown and it will only stop until my frustration has disappeared. Anyway..enjoy I guess.

Posted on 03/20/2003
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