Dear Anna

October 21, 2012
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You are the button that holds my jeans together, the adrenaline from the high , and the liquor that keeps me wasted on you.
You are the never ending drink in my hand, the depressing winter, and the missing car keys after a few rounds of drinks.
Dear Anna, I haven't gotten around to thank you: I've been too busy drinking.
Dear Anna, I owe you so much of my life, if only I loved you.
Dear Anna: I only married you because I knew you were innocent; I knew you would marry me, too.
Dear Anna, I wish I could say that I'm sorry.
Please be the cigarette in my hand, the next puff of smoke I inhale, the last breath I ever take.
Please be the machine that beeps every second to the beat of my heart: and then go blank.
Dear Anna: you were never the death of me.
Dear Anna: if you were alive, I would still be treating you like the button that never held my jeans together, like the high that was never quite enough, like the liquor that couldn't keep me drunk enough to stand being around you.

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