Sobriety I

 My soul is a well that draws deep from the waters of time. My body is a circle of stones that houses it from wondering passerby's. My essence is simplicity and inconvenience in a land of singular valves and pipes. I think maybe I am an antiquated relic .
Water is cool, and smooth. I like to press my fingers against it to feel the slightest degrees of tension. I like to immerse my face within the chilled sensation, holding my breath and counting seconds as they pass. I am in that moment. I am feeling connected with the world that is loud, in a quiet soft moment. With my face in the waters, I can feel the breath caged within me start to pound in a way of peace.

I am a vessel, spilling time around me. It swishes and swashes, swirling about. My memory is a canteen, pouring out distilled thoughts.  Drops of anguish, and drips of solitude linger snf run like condensation.  Still-frames are frozen in my recollections. 

August 26 was the day my father stopped drinking. August 26th is the day he died. August 27th the river rose and flooded me with scars. I think of God and the two loves that left in August. I used to miss them so terribly from a time that I was drunk on their affection.  I would drink in the minutes spent together, and I’d watch time disappear as I swallowed it. 

 But I’m sober now.

 I’m not drunk off affection, or whiskey colored eyes, or the pain of a broken promise of a future spent together. I’m not sipping on “what could have beens” because I’ve come into an understanding. We weren’t in love, we were just in fun together.  Truth is a Monday morning wake up call, and I know we were wrong for each other.  

 I’m sober now. 

Sobriety II

Driving down a dark road lit by bar lights I see  a woman with unnatural eye lashes pawing at a man who is consumed in a vampiric embrace. People focus inwardly on craving, And outwardly on critique. Its easy for friends to be drunk on my laughter, its when i pour my problems they're bitter to the taste. I stand like a sober man among bartenders and drunks and wave back and forth between being a blur and just another faceless customer. They take what they want but they don't want what you give. "Everyone's got their own problems, don't kill the vibe" What selfish thing to say to a friend. Your suffering is secondary to my pleasure.
I keep trying to speak in stone cold sobriety of reality and depth. Goldfish only hear this moment and have no memory of moments beyond liquid.  How do I pour the sobriety of my mind into a worthy vessel like pure cold water in a clean glass. Why should I toss the keys to my understanding to those in no condition to drive, To those who are unskilled in how to operate heavy reasoning.  They swerve into accusations,  pit right into blame, and tout their innocence while staggering from the wreckage. Im driving down this same dark lit road now strobed in reds and blues. There is no party here any longer. Just a great disturbance of the peace.