Why do I always seem to mess good things up?
But that is no excuse.
I find fault in everyone but myself
Yes, even when I’m drunk.
And I push everyone I love away,
Even when I am sober.
Why was I born defective?
I tell myself
Take this good man and keep him safe,
Allow him inside your mind
And always Love him tenderly.
But… do I do that?
And then a few months later
I am drunk
And I am arguing with him over things
That no longer matter.
But alcohol fuels my anger,
Whispering his flaws into my ears.
Then when light comes to the new day,
And I am then sober,
Wiping away the remnants of a tear-stricken face
And gazing at him in his peaceful slumber,
Do these doubts loom in my mind.
The uncertainty of how I am unable to love tenderly for long,
And how I will never be satisfying enough for him,
What to call this selfish affliction?
Is my tainted childhood to blame?
Or is it merely the liquor?
Whether sober or Alive,
I feel empty.
Whether in Love or in happiness,
I am manipulated.
Even if I don’t want to fake anything,
Even if I beg for the “happy ending” to my dull story,
Why do I sabotage myself?
Why do I always feel so hollow;
Even when I am surrounded by “love?”
It is past midnight,
I am drunk.
I am forlorn.
And in the later morning hours,
I will be sober.
I will still feel Isolated.