I can feel the burning in my throat,
like those first sips of vodka I tasted at thirteen.
And I want to scream because you can be so fucking bitter–
When when you’re feeling low, you go down like vinegar.
But it’s also true that your words can suck every drop of life’s venom out of me.
And I can’t even drink vodka any more because when I tried to make it do the same it made me sick.
It burned my throat and my stomach the way you’ve been known to do–
But vodka doesn’t apologize.
Now I drink whiskey instead, another thing I learned from you.
I so loved being the little girl, only sixteen, that could throw back the whiskey and not need a chaser.
You thought it was cute, and I watched a drunk grin spread across your face the first time you saw me not flinch.
But what bothers me the most, is that even though I’ve never had to chase my whiskey, I can’t stop chasing you.