How does it feel?

To be the loaded gun in her hand,

(She's got her finger on the trigger now)

Cocked, aimed, ready, and willing

To shots her in the foot

(Again, again, again).

How does it feel

To be the shot of vodka

That pushes the one-too-many envelope?

(She chokes, coughs, and gags when it hits the back of her throat,

Sound familiar?)

The one that lets the last of her inhibitions loose

(Sober, she'd remember her self promise not to cry over this anymore)

And how does it feel

To be the next four shots as well?

How does it feel?

To be the knife protruding from her back

(You hit between the ribs;

You found her fragile flesh,

The soft skin of a hard soul.)

Twisting in deeper

Each and every time she calls you crying

(Begging you:

Baby, come home,

I can't sleep alone.

Baby, please

Baby boy, please).

How does it feel?

To be the vomit in the toilet

(A bit of a downsize from being the only thing who could make her smile during the Hard Times,

No?)

The next morning –

She can feel her heartbeat

(Your heartbeat?)

In her head

(And God it hurts!)

And she reeks of rum,

And she is praying to the porcelain god,

(Again, again, again)

And she can't decide if its guilt or a hangover.

How does it feel?