Keep the Fire Going

Losing feeling in my right leg. Bruises keep showing up. Right hand trembles whenever I try to use it. Lift my glass and write left handed. Sleep less and less each night, regularly hitting two or three days awake. Stare into the dark.

See the therapist. See the nurse. See the doctor. Tell them all I know I drink too much. Tell them how much. Watch their eyebrows raise. Tell them all I wear death like skin. Tell them why I'm afraid of guns. Watch their eyebrows come together, Tell them all I know I'm an asshole. Tell them all I know. Watch them stare blank at me, scribble something down. They each suggest in-patient. I don't have time. I can't afford it. 

Sit in the chair and tap my fingers and look away. Can't look them in eye. Edged. Embarrassed. Something is going to pour out of me. I'll say too much. I'll beg. Completely uncomfortable. I don't ask for help. I can't. My mother never did. Neither will I. Everything is fine.

I can feel my heart in my chest and the heat under my skin. Clenching my jaw between sentences. Want to be home. Want to be asleep. Want a drink. Have to go through with this. Have to. 

Still an ember in the ash. Keep the fire going. Have to.

For my loves. 

Keep the fire going. Have to.