Escaping Alcohol

The mood darkened as the moon

stretched full, and the stars

applauded misery.

I despised dive bars so much so

that I was on a stool

in a crowded dive bar.

Most times, I'd sip vodka over rocks.

It'd burn, but I'd swallow it all the same.

I suppose it'll only change

when I stop drinking.

Dad gave me the habit.

It was all the bastard gave me,

and I'd cling on to it.

It's gotten me this far,

which isn't saying much.

I surfed channels on my brown leather sofa

and saw a message about Jesus.

It made sense,

so I prayed and asked him

to bring a good woman into my life.

I was tired of sleeping with random women,

and I was tired of being tired

of fearing commitment.

And now, I'm alive.

The bartender speaks,

but the hard rock,

pushing through the speakers,

distorted his voice.

A red blinking open sign

in the large tinted window

didn't explain what people

opened themselves to.

Alcohol killed dreams

and tore families asunder

but the poison lined the pockets

of divorce lawyers.

A judge will tell you when you can

or can't see your little girl.

The clerk provides you with an order

specifying how much to pay,

and a restraining order

to stay away from the mother.

I wouldn't know because I don't drink.

Not anymore.

I smiled when Lauren pushed through the doors

with a tan cardigan, and her long, dark hair pulled behind her ears.

We met at church five months ago and came to her parent's bar, which doesn't serve alcohol anymore.

They served espressos and Red Bull, chilled or hot.

Lauren intoxicated me with her red, luscious lips.

We kissed, and I bathed in a pure high.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Twitter: AC0040