Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

That feeling of bad rooms
bad black stains
and bad things is back.

The clink and roll of errant glass.
The unwaivering need for some
hard
hot
wet

anonymous
liquor down my throat.

That all important third drink.
One for the pain.
Two for invulnerability.

Amber bites.
Bad room spins.
Stained floor says hi.

I don't know where I went wrong.
Don't know that I did.
Don't know how I got here.

I must have put that cigarette out on my arm
It wasn't dark then.
It wasn't for me.

This was more about celebrating.
At least I thought.
But it turned.

More and more.
Toward that feeling
that problem.
That solution.

There was a confession in there somewhere...
about hands on stomachs
and deep, exhausted kisses.

Where did it go?