Ideas

I’m fuck out of ideas sweet heart.
You think everything is fine, nobody in their right mind would think to deny you. Everybody loves you? Everybody loves the drunk?
Maybe, so they say. But see my problem is I really do love the drunk. Through all the fucking, fighting, laughing can’t you see there has only ever been me who loves you, the drunk?

Seeing you thrash against the painful memories of reality sobriety brings you, I feel an urge. To hate you, love you, do what I do. Take the blood and sweet tears of your life; you’ve lost them in the bottom of the bottle. And instead you make memories with me and vodka.

Cleverly, you keep me around. In the knowing, I’ll stay.
Vodka can keep the time.

I’ll take you to public places where you can put on the show. I’ll wait with a Marlboro.
I hate the way you smile stupidly. I love the glassiness of your eyes. I hate the way you look at her. I love the way you touch me, uninhibited.
But tonight you won’t whisper sweet nothings. Tonight you’ll lie against me, asleep. Yet you mumble you are mine to keep on heavy breath.

Darling I love you.
But this can’t make a home.