Festering Hour...again

Memories that won't drown in a sea of time,
tumbling bottles of pain washed back up on shore.
Fighting back tears while typing inside jokes,
trying to distract myself with thoughts of tawdry affairs.
Even figurative sex doesn't quite quell my rotten stomach,
giant butterflies rumbling about in a cramped cavern.
I've been here before, never admitting the pain,
always swallowing what should have been pride.
Staring off vacantly, family occasions and rowdy parties;
snapping back in time to give a pleasant nod.
A few drinks turning into bathtubs of gin,
twin fists of beer, or several scotch sours.
The thought of sleep pacifies some of the edge,
but the rest never comes, teasing with heavy eyelids.
Hot apartments giving way to hotter street corners,
a single fan to cool the coals under my belly.
The thoughts return like sparks from a dying fire
stoking my agony to an unbearable level.
I tear off my clothes and turn the shower knob
freezing water seems to turn to steam at my touch.
The rotten memories are dragging chains,
pulling the skeletons of my past into the cauldron;
a bubbling pool of filth and regret.
Hands of people I have known reaching out
then fading back into the sticky mess.
I will never know the purity and solace of peace,
my soul seems to ache at every turn.
After the whiskey has run dry
and the tears have left trails of salt upon my cheeks,
I will light another cigarette and she will slap me again.
I'll look forward to it.