Words, Whiskey and a Shovel

(1/10)  8:13 PM  Please tell me this is all a joke. It has to be. I am sorry. Let me fix this, I love you.
I heard your voice for the first time. In that same café. You were calling out for your favourite Irish coffee. And, oh dear, it was the sweetest voice I had heard in quite some time. It sounded like my favourite song, my mother’s voice, birds chirping in the meadows. I knew I was never going to settle for silence again.

(2/10)  9:07 PM  I managed to get home safe after downing three rounds of Jack Daniels. The sky was pretty but that didn’t stop me from puking three times.
You kissed me. Your mouth had an aftertaste of Jack Daniels and it took me back to the time I visited my father, seeing him chugging a bottle as if his life clung to it. You reminded me of words that cut deep like razor blades and the gaping hole in the wall that remains unfixed. I kissed you, anyway.
 
(3/10)  9:11 PM  I see you everywhere in my room.
Your mascara was on my shirt. You screamed bloody murder, save for your ragged breaths. You turned my chest into a firecracker and it has been igniting ever since.
 
(4/10)  11:36 PM  I found that old poem I wrote you – crumpled under my bed, next to a bottle of vodka. I thought you had kept it.
I don’t like who I have become. I built so many walls and pushed away almost all the people who actually cared. I let only you peek into my deep recesses. But you found his more enticing than mine.
 
(5/10)  11:38 PM  Who am I kidding? You didn’t even keep me, why would you keep my poetry?
I want to annihilate all the walls I built. But I cannot let anyone see what has become of me. I cannot see myself falling apart and losing all the pieces. Not again, at least.
 
(6/10)  2:01 AM  What about me was so hard to keep?
I am an iris in a skeleton – I just don’t exist anymore. But I used to. You were the crutch I needed to see, without feeling a montage of eternal ache. Without you I am only blindness, bones and broken.
 
(7/10)  3:30 AM  Mom asked me if I had been drinking.
You loved the way my skin tasted but didn’t care enough about the bruises on my knees I got from kneeling on the gravel at the many park benches. You didn’t care enough where I was headed to; you just replaced me while I was gone.
 
(8/10)  3:32 AM  I have been.
I will always be scared if that insecure 19-year-old boy who will always be stuck in my sternum, jabbing at all the wrong buttons after the raging anxiety of being cheated upon settles in. It is your fault.
 
(9/10)  5:58 AM  Do you think that the whole bottle could kill me?
 
(10/10)  6:23 AM  Would you miss me?

~Ritika

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10 thoughts on “Words, Whiskey and a Shovel

  1. Unfortunately, you’d be wasting a perfectly good life -cause he wouldn’t miss you. However, all of us here in this blogging world -would miss you. So hang on, and know, “this too, shall pass. Many hugs sent!

    Liked by 1 person

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