god of wine.

she said, almost as an excuse, "i fell down again."
he told her, "so get back up."
& although at the moment it seemed a bit more complicated than that,
she did what was expected of her, & he felt a little better about it all.

she asks him if he remembers feeling, but he said he's busy,
too busy trying to block out the bad,
silencing screams with screams.
so she buys another dress, a whole outfit to match.

it's not easy to blame him for anything,
he's just trying to be alright,
doing it all wrong but she is obligated to help,
some sort of promise she barely remembers.

but god this girl is sick of dancing,
dancing to someone else's dealing
because she's not a pill, not a cure,
not doctor prescribed.

she doesn't believe in science, anyhow.
but it's like there's nothing else now,
maybe sometimes all you have is something you don't really believe in.
& maybe that's better than nothing.

she used to be the same person every winter,
but she told someone, maybe herself, that she misses dancing to music.
not words, not science or equations,
music, maybe snow.

he listened or overheard & said he doesn't remember,
but can he see her this weekend?
finally, she's actually busy;
she's been fabricating plans for weeks.

what's the point if it doesn't make you feel?
it's an empty sort of comfort,
just to have a body next to you,
someone to talk to in the middle of the night.

it's so forced, it makes her cry.
or at least it would if she felt.
"where's the life?" she asked,
but no one remembered.

he said he just misses being in love,
but then he seriously considers whether or not she's the one.
she wants to scream at him,
but she opts for a shrug, because it will hurt him less.

where do we begin to get clean again?
can we get clean again?
sometimes you let me in,
& i take it on the chin,

i wanna know, can we get clean again?
the god of wine comes crashing
through the headlights of a car
it cancels out the day.

before & after