the hardest working liver in the galaxy

booze, booze.. yes, for my age, i know too much of the waking up on linoleum and vomiting up cold pizza on an even colder night off your buddy’s balcony. i know of the subtle dusting on cheeks after one glass of wine suddenly becomes two, and three, and you don’t remember where you put your drink but you know you had it somewhere before you went to find becca. i know of music swimming through the ears and singing solemn tunes to yourself while you lean over a measuring bowl because trish didn’t have a bucket. i know of all sense of awareness going and losing yourself to the freezing floor and not feeling a thing, getting up and asking if you really just fell, or if it was in your head. i know of the stomach turning at the smell of liquor the next morning and your hair wreaking of vodka and redd’s and whatever the fuck else you ingested that you lost track of while you buy cheese puffs at the store nearby. i know of kneeling above your own friends who lay unconscious, lost to cough syrups and the last shot of the fireball that you know she shouldn’t have had. i know of coffee doing flips inside and the groaning and the crying and the screaming and the incompetence. i know of the way it screws you up because you drank and forgot to take your meds and now you’re fucked in the head for the next two weeks until your meds balance out again. i know of it all and i hope to never know of it again- as a sixteen year old girl who has laid her hands on the bathroom floor and promised and swore like an elderly man with a problem, that she will never drink again, even if the girls are down. and, like an elderly man with a problem, there’s a party next saturday if you’re in to do it all over again.