The Whiskey Monologues

I can’t forget the events of those nights
The taste of whiskey in your kisses
The smell of it on your breath
I’m haunted by the feel of your hands
And the soft curses spoken

I remember every whispered promise
Those of love, marriage and a family
I remember the night those promises stopped
And all that remained was the whiskey
The burn of it all going down

I’ve tried to drink away these memories
But nothing can burn them away
When I drink rum I only get sick
The same with vodka and tequila
I’ve tried whiskey, but it reminds me of you

Taking a shot of whiskey is like kissing you
My whole system is affected by it
My mouth goes numb and
Everything tastes weaker after
It’s a taste that can never be forgotten

I can remember my first shot of whiskey
Just like I remember our first kiss
And haunted by our last kiss
I swore I’d never shoot whiskey again
But I crave the burn

Submitted by Amelia.

YOU’RE JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER

Buried deep under the water
You’re resting on your laurels
And stepping on my toes
Whose side are you on?
What side is this anyway?
Put down your sword and crown
Come lay with me on the ground
- ‘Moth’s Wings,’ Passion Pit

One minute you’re sitting in the car, parked in front of his house, and he’s flipping through your iPod. You’re singing to Passion Pit and he’s dancing and his voice is terrible but you can’t stop smiling because this is a fucking cliché and it’s perfect. Wu-Tang and he’s rapping and you remember what drew you to him — he’s different from everyone else in your life. The look on your friend’s face earlier when he saw this boy for the first time, when he said, ‘He’s…a bro.’ You laughed. He’s a bro. Then he’s talking about flying to New York to see Daft Punk in two months, and your heart’s dropping because he wouldn’t drive four hours to see you when you were most alone.

Why has this kept on?

He tells you to ‘Make a goddamn grown-up decision.’ So you do. And then it’s whiskey straight no chaser and clothes are off and this, it’s new. You make him turn off the movie and look for music. Next he’s asleep and it’s uncomfortably reminiscent of those two years you wasted with someone who didn’t belong. And you’re leaving, loudly, stumbling across the lawn at 5 a.m. and somehow you’re home, in bed.

You can’t shape him. Was any of it ever real? The museum, dinner, the swimming pool? The moment where his arm rested around your lower back before you locked gazes and both uncomfortably shifted? He’s all of your bad habits personified. He’s a bad choice, time after time, but you keep going back.

The morning is bite marks and bruises and sore all over and wondering if this is what makes you normal.

Submitted by cdean.

I tried my best not to let you in, but it happened anyway.

We were drinking whiskey on the train tracks, at five in the
afternoon, feeling the gravel shift under our sneakers and the
spattering of raindrops on our skin. Settled under the overpass, with
all the spray paint, all the dirty, stained concrete which spoke more
of this disillusioned youth than anything else.

It was quiet - not awkward, just comfortable.

Glancing up, I looked over and was reminded, yet again, of everything:
your freckles and your eyes and that perfect half-smile. I saw the way
you looked, and the way you looked at me, and we saw the way the
colours spilled across the sky, we saw all the beautiful things. You
are the beautiful things.

My heart so full, full of happiness and full of love for everyone and
everything, and you. For once in my life, everything was perfect, and
everything fit.

I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that way again.

Submitted by Forelsket.