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Burn It Out

By @AprilHill

They talk about alcohol so much

Like its so great

Like it takes all the pain away

They sing about the parties

and falling drunkenly in love

Its all lies

You don’t hear the retching sounds

on that hot new single

You don’t hear the sobs

catching in your throat

as you try to fight off the suicidal thoughts

While they sing about dancing,

while the beat is pounding with your heart,

they won’t sing about the pounding

echoing in your head the next morning

They’ll say, “No regrets,” as you take

your sixth shot of whiskey that night.

But then your body rebels the next day

as you sit in front of the toilet

wondering if throwing up would hurt

or help

as you shove your fingers down your throat

hoping to expel the poison

you so callously chugged down it

only twelve hours ago.

They won’t sing about that.

They won’t tell you

how you glare at your phone in the morning

desperately hunting for hangover cures

and then you try them all.

But then you’l close the curtains

and you’ll crawl back into bed

because you burnt the d*** eggs

because you forgot that you don’t own

a f****** spatula

and you couldn’t find the salt and pepper

anyway.

So you alternate between the bed

and the toilet

hoping one of them will stop

the churning of your stomach.

And you took 800 milligrams of

ibuprofen

and your head still hurts

and you can’t fall asleep again.

They won’t sing about that.

How you texted your friend

who doesn’t even drink

and all she wants is for you to be happy again.

But you’re laying on the couch

crying your eyes out

next to pizza that you ordered at 12:53 AM

for the h*** of it

and you won’t even touch it for two days

because you forgot

you’re on a diet.

Why don’t they sing about that?

Why won’t they sing about the reason

you pulled a full mug of fire in the

first place?

Because you’re all alone

and you hate it

and you hate yourself

and you hate the people that have

put you through h***.

You hate yourself even more

because

with every drop that lands in the mug

maybe you can stop hating yourself

for just a few hours

with every burning sip

maybe it’ll burn the hate out

But no,

it lights the fire instead.

You consider drinking more

the whole d*** bottle

and the the other two in the fridge

and you want to die

you want to die so bad

you just want the pain to end

And you know that there is no party

No dancing under the club lights

not for you

not tonight

You just cry.

Because you can’t burn out

the self-loathing.

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