I'm Drunk

I’m drunk. Again.

And it comes with a kind of nameless desperation.

But more background noise than a nagging presence.

A feeling, an itch.

It’s unscratchable, but I’ll pick at it anyways.

It’s not a lack of happiness had had driven me to liquor,

Nor has it directed my thoughts.

It is more an instinct.

Like a person at a feast that knows too well what it is to go hungry.

They may no longer spend nights empty and starved,

But they will never break the habit of eating until they burst when in the presence of nourishment.

I am much the same,

But food is not my craving.

I’ve a hungry mind,

A gaunt imagination that desires sustenance,

It is a race I’ll never win.

A marathon where the mile markers are mannequins pointing in all the directions I cannot run.

But I go on anyway.

And tomorrow I will wake up happy,

If a little bruised.