I'm ripe with things to say The words rot and fall away. If a stupid poem could fix this home I'd read it every day. - Blink 182, Stay together for the kids.

Oven chips tonight.
Again.
How many bags of chips is that now?
Just the idea of a home cooked meal gives you
Heart burn.

Monday morning hangover.
Tuesday morning hangover.
On Wednesday you wake up with the wine box,
on the pillow next to you,
empty.
Your new best friend.

Here in this bedsit, you and
your red wine blues live,
Anonymously
Lonely.

A slice of Saturday morning heaven.
Weatherspoon’s breakfast with the kids.
You’ve looked forwards to this all week,
Purposefully didn’t drink.

The silences.
The awkward newness of it all.
You tell yourself it’s not their fault.
You didn’t want to leave.
The bitter vines around your heart
Sqeezing tighter, all the time.
Pushing bursts of desperate vehemence,
through your,
clenched,
teeth.

The memory of it drives you back to drink.

You tell yourself it’ll get easier.
(and it does)
But it’s hard to believe
When your alone in the evenings
Scraping with your demons.

That’s what no one tells you about divorce
The evenings you’ll spend alone,
The terrible contrast to those evenings
You spent at home.

X