Precious Divinity Spiced

...

(high) off your horse, your favorite
hangover song is the beat that sounds like gathering rain.
Your lovely dives onto his surfboard
and floats away and
the boat's too sunk to look for him,
but the sun's too low to know better.
Your family thinks this is a euphemistic summary
of your weekend, but it really only
consisted of the one word you said to the
sexist bastards walking by, with sparkling eyes (hi)

(high) standards radiate from that one you
married, very illegally. When you awake next
to him he tells you in a hoarse whisper,
"all our kids are gonna be addicts."
He's already named their diseases. He
counts them on his hand before he touches
you where it feels good. You got wasted
for the first time last night you think,
"this is what it feels like. this is what
it feels like. does it hurt? it might. it might."
You can hear the waves from far inside. You
sense right away the tide is (high)

("hi) angel, what do you think?" the
empty uniforms ask as
they drag the lovely out of the pit.
"he was an alcoholic. he deserved it."
You believe them but you hope you'll
grow out of that soon, too. You didn't
have a headache this morning and the storm washed
away the evidence (it tasted like rice coming out)
"if you really loved him you could've had him.
you're pretty enough, angel." you close your eyes
and know for sure you never could've reached him
he was too (high)