Teardrops

I'm sick of these late nights
staring up at the ceiling,
as if you can see my hurt,
feel my pain.

I'm sick of these hungover mornings,
intoxicated by you.
Trying to wake up,
stretching my fingertips to the sky,
then collapsing to the ground.

I'm sick of avoiding my feelings,
pushing them under the rug.

I'm stuck forgetting-
then remembering again.
I don't know how to make this pain subside.

I don't think it ever will.
Not 20 shots of vodka,
Not even an eternity of sleep
will ever make me forget
the four years of pain you've inflicted on me.

I forget sometimes for a while,
a false paradise.
When the nights are quiet
and the alcohol is a little too strong,
I think of you.