the ocean

i'm probably still drunk

in bed, my head spins,
and i watch a two-girl romance
that reminds me of the time
i couldn't speak, but i could write.
i can't see the screen
i've got vodka in my eyes.
last night, we fought about her,
we fought about everything
and i've come to see,
i don't have to pay for drinks
except barely ever
and you left me to fight the dark
because you couldn't handle mine.
trusting that they would get me home safe.
even if i'm sick
even if my make-up cakes.
and i didn't remember to brush my teeth.
so you stalked off,
left me in the carousel
and i squeezed his hand, said don't go
don't leave me in the loud loud noise
and the bright bright lights that make you all
seem much much dearer to me.
when i don't like anything
and i don't see anything
don't want to even hold a hand now.
just sit quietly,
do nothing,
make nothing,
except my cardboard aviary.