When I drink.

I drink to make myself more pliable,
to loosen up the tight knots that keep my lips closed,
so that my words fall free.

I say I can't remember,
when I remember you yelling clearly-
and letting them drag me up the stairs,
the smell of cigarettes and vodka on my clothes,
my hair matted against my skull,
still sticky from the vomit.

Its alway okay in the morning,
when neither of us have started yet.
When you smile behind your first cup of coffee-
in wal-mart tinkerbell pajama bottoms-
I remember why I love you,
I remember when you used to love me.

I drink to make myself unable to protest,
unable to say no to anything you do-
because you touch me like you used to,
when you think I have no idea whats going on.
When you stroke my hair and ask me to say 'inebriated'
I feel like a cast aside ragdoll- temporarily pulled from the closet.