The words fell out of your mouth
into a puddle.
You plucked them from the pavement,
smeared them across my face
and left me,
standing on the street corner,
hair in bedraggled skeins,
teetering on high heels,
feeling brash and tacky away from the sweaty,
heaving beats. I cried out
to you. You turned to spit
alcohol-laden disappointment into my face
and stalked off.

I crept home, skittish,
startling at sudden noises
and strange faces that billowed
out at me. The next day
saw you quiet with remorse.
No recriminations from me.
I could still smell faint fumes
on your breath, a spiteful caress
following me out of the door.

We held hands on the bus,
appearing to all the world
contented, carefree lovers,
eyes entwined
and I enjoyed the fleeting moment,
settled for simple goals,
an afternoon in the park,
a trip on the bus,
an evening of peace
before the ruckus begins again.

2am and the phone rings
drilling through my sluggish,
panic-ridden brain.
We begin in familiar fashion,
recrimination, remorse,
anger, fear.
I retch as you spill
your guts onto the street and cry.
I can almost see your sweat-soaked visage,
panting, dripping bile and salt-streaked tears.
Quiet now,
the aftermath of another failure.

How many times can we play this game
before I am subsumed,
defining myself by your fears?
Will you drag me under?
Silence my dissenting voice
with numbness
found at the bottom of a bottle.