By Liv Feilden
Part 1
Don’t wake me.
I’d rather not know
Where your drunk footsteps go
After last orders.
Don’t turn on the light.
I’d rather pretend
You’re still there, my friend,
Behind the curtain of my dreams.
If you see me stir
Or murmur a kiss,
You won’t comprehend it.
Shake me back into stupors.
If your tumbling words
Herd into my sleep,
You will not hear a peep
From my dormant lips.
Don’t wake me, please.
I’d rather not remember
The bruises on my body
In my sham dream’s embers.
Part 2
Don’t wake me,
I’d rather not know
The world that lies
Beyond my drunken stupor.
If your chiding words
Crowd into my sleep,
I’ll let the cold numb me
And the bottle warm me.
If you see me come home
And murmur an apology,
You’ll pretend you’ve not heard,
Turn your back on me.
Don’t turn on the light
To tell me off like a child.
Nobody’s perfect
And the world feels less fucked
Where my footsteps go
After last orders,
Searching for a rainbow
In the rim of my bottle.
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