Handle Case Fifth Nip Can Bottle Parched

Everything I was and wasn’t trying to say,
Spilled into my coffee (that day) and,
Left me wondering if…
I should drink it all back in
Or…
get a new cup. 
It bubbles under the wall paper,
Pestilent boils clinging to pockets of air,
Whispering of a childhood plagued by loss,
Thin skin.
I wait to erupt like Helens,
Blinding and flashy like Vegas (light) bulbs,
You flicker on, juiced up, ready.
Mmmmm, orange juice always tastes better in the morning before toothpaste.
The evening is pinching, turning, tightening with pressure,
A pop bottle shaken.
It’s not a shock going from zero-to-sixty,
The shock comes when we are wrapped around the pole wondering what the hell happened.
Grating on my nerves, the way teeth scrape the back of a warn wooden spoon,
My cringing uneasiness, here it comes,
Your twelve-can permission slip,
to act like an ass and not be held
accountable for your actions,
to careen out of control and dump all
your shit on me…
has just been revoked.
What happened to sobriety?