No one told me about the nightmares. No one told me
about the sweats and the shakes and the shits
and the fucking nightmares.
Last night I binged
with my brother and had to explain to my mom why
he was passed out on the kitchen floor, apologize
for hooking him on this ride. She screamed at me,
cried. I think she slapped me, and my brother
tried to hold her back but couldn’t even stand.
I couldn’t tell her when or why we started drinking,
and that’s when I woke up.
Bed sheets plastered with
that god-awful sweat, heart pounding in my throat,
I realized it was a dream. It’s not fair, feeling
like shit all day, just to fall asleep and think
I’m awake, putting everyone through
an emotional garbage disposal. Makes me wonder,
why bother keeping up the act? I don’t give a shit
what the dream means. I don’t want a sponsor.
I know how to stop the nightmares, but
this goddamn program won’t let me.