Drunking Buddies

My heart lay scattered around you like peanut shells on the floor of Big Red’s bar… I watch as each of you step on another piece… Crunch crunch, crunch crunch, crunch crunch

Sipping on an IPA from a seat with a visual vantage point, the thick citrus hops shrivel my tastebuds. My tongue gets caught in my throat I am unable to swallow, drowning in my own spit and self-containment.

Maybe at one time I could have blamed someone other than myself, but it has taken effort on my part to stay this way. Silent, unthreatening, blending in, but never really fitting in. I never really thought about fitting in so it never really mattered to me when I didn’t, but sometimes I wonder what it would have been like growing up trusting people. Feeling like who you were was always going to be enough for them to keep loving you.

The lighting in this bar always seemed dim to me. A mood lighting adjustment maybe, or a way to hide the dirt. The blood that stained the floor where my heart lay.

A few drinks in now. The bitterness of the IPA is barely noticeable. IPAs always tend to hit me fast and then I need to eat, or I get emotional and when I get emotional, I get loud, I can be threatening, I tend to stand out.

I was always so good at small talk, after a while it bored me. Being a loner, I love deep and long conversations, ones where people walk away changed somehow, or at least a little closer, or better understood.

It’s time for shots. One more before we hit the road. Another pitcher too, before we close the tab.

We’ve been talking and debating for hours now. For the second night in a row. For the second year in a row. Years pass.

I watch you more closely now. How you enter the bar, walk up to the waiter and order a round for the table; casually making your way over. Crunch crunch, crunch crunch, crunch crunch

My heart still lay scattered on the ground from the first time I had ripped it out. Having revealed my vulnerability like elective surgery with local anesthesia. Chest cavity opened-up, only to watch how you would cut up each piece of muscle and flesh with surgical precision.

Through the haze. The alcohol, the beer, the highs, and the lows, I haven’t a clue as to how we got here, but I recognize the familiar sense of fear; that Love, and Safety are not what I will find here.

I grab the water and lean in, to finish the fries. I won’t run, if needed I will battle until I die, but I’ll be damned, if I ever come back to this Pigsty.