Black Out, Burn Out

I wrote this after having a fairly sophomore year involving copious amounts of alcohol.

All last year you were fine.

You could go out and have

a good time and not screw up.

Was it really worth all the

heartache? Morning headaches

and looking in the mirror

at the battle scars from

the night before.

 

Entire nights erased.

Good, bad, everything

gone like rain washing away chalk

marks in a driveway.

 

Was it worth it

to screw with friendships and

make things awkward?

You didn’t mean to, you

can’t remember. Sober remnants

tell you how you tried to avoid

purple marks on your neck,

but one look in the mirror

and your hopes of everything

good come crashing down.

 

Tears roll down your face-

ashamed, embarrassed. Angered

that you didn’t have the self

control. Tormented with flash

images that don’t go together

and mean nothing without context.

 

Losing respect for yourself,

and your friends watching you

like some prison inmate ready

to break free with every move.

Continuous guilt and self pity-

avoiding anyone who

could have been involved.

 

Was it really worth it?

Having to find out what you

did last night from pictures of

you on the kitchen floor,

bottle in hand?

 

Looking across the table

at the scar tissue on his

neck. Were you the one

who bit him?

 

Sure, you laugh it off at

the weekly morning-after breakfasts,

but it hurts to know how

you’re the joke.