i remember the bottle on the counter,
its label bright, almost laughing at me.
i remember thinking
maybe this time it’ll be different.
i remember the taste, bitter and familiar,
like old regrets pressing against my tongue.
i remember the quiet apartment,
the hum of the fridge,
the clock ticking too loud.
i remember telling myself
just once, just tonight,
just to forget
the shapes of all the things i broke.
i remember the ceiling spinning,
the floor tilting,
and the silence
that swallowed my voice.
i remember thinking
i should have been stronger,
cleaner, better.
i remember that i wasn’t.
i remember lying there,
the weight of myself heavier than the world,
and the strange comfort
in knowing
i’d done it again.