All I know of hope is its transience
My mother’s Bible on the dining room table
the morning after I swore, my cheeks wet and cold, that I met God.
My mother’s rage not a week later.
The two women I love the most are with me in the same room
I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t a major, climactic conflict or a lover’s firing squad
I’m a little sober now (barely)
but I can scarcely hold my head up
The worst thing is there’s nothing I can do to convince you I still would have fallen in love with you sober
And now I’ve drunk so much that the room spins harshly to my left when I close my eyes, a vertigo that doesn’t stop when I open them again.