why does she drink

         Drinking my beer, eyes stick to me, my reality, will I convert to my mother?

         Will I be the alcoholic, the functioning alcoholic that she is or will I go about my evening and finish this crispy beer? Silent whispers in my ears, they're from a distance but with every drink I hear them come closer, it's just my family, telling me to re-think every drink I take, I'll be just like my mother.

         She drinks and drinks, then drinks some more to come home with a smile on her face.  

         Following conversations at our local brewery my mother can't forget the moments of regret, my mother will tell me one thing one day and the next day it will never be said again, in fact, I can bring it up again, suddenly, "I never said that! Now that's a lie Jazz. I would never say that! How dare you! How dare you say I said that" how lovely she is, my mother.

         Cigarettes take on a new habit and soon after this I'll pick up gummies, maybe shrooms. Now I'm having a beer near my home, the home I grew up in. The home where my mother made pleasant dinners and gentle warm mistakes. The beer that held her, the beer that nurtured her now nurtures me.

         We sit and talk, like nothing is wrong. The beers keep coming, she's had two or three and I only one because I'm driving. Maybe if I wasn't driving, I'd have another, two or three.

         Regardless, my head begins to pound after another beer, anything to get me feeling loose around those I love the most.

         People are so perfect, perfect in all they do, they can't make a single mistake, the purity they show or the purity they want to portray so bad, I see you and your mistakes.

         Maybe we just need a little praise.

         If I didn't have my pleasurable moments of failure, could I find a reason to think beyond myself and this beer? Beyond the pleasures of my body and yours?

         Soon I'm in my own twirling world and I want something I'm not supposed to want, like you.

         Topping off my own orgasm for the day because I can't have all my pleasures and desires come from the silent whispers in my ears.

         I'm back home near the people I'm supposed to love the most, but I feel cold, the odd one out in every corner and stone in my scenes of life. But there you go smiling, portraying the pleasures of life you want to have so bad.

         My apartment, these four walls, they can be so quiet, and I'm tuned into my keyboard when suddenly I'm releasing the immediacy of climax. My vibrator etches, she guides me into my own fruitions, the ones laying around my body waiting for a woman to pick and eat. Now I've built up the courage to release what I've been needing.

         The bitterness hits my tongue, and the lines crawl into my lap and into my skin, this dank drink and who is she?

         She's the one going to the beach with me, the one going to the outskirts of everything for me to feel something other than hesitance and grip of my reality. It's our secret past time. The breeze for once is freeing and the lips of you feel like I can finally get my desires.

         The pews of the church, hardened wood, I don't think I should be sitting here but I was raised Roman Catholic, isn't this what I should be doing when I'm lost in my desires? The congregation looks around, more eyes stick on me and I'm left with slime inside and outside of me because I can't get enough.

         Finally for the first time, she sees me, and I see her, what would I do without her? Guilt I once felt while watching over my shoulder. I'm the desire, I want to feel free because I'm away from my her. Now I let go, of the inside.

         A smile on my face, foreplay to me and chaos for others. To cope I think I'll have a drink. Soon I'll forget the conversations we never had, and I'll have my own thoughts and desires that will never be lies.

         Finally, my heart beats in sync with my teeth.