Beautiful Hot Mess.

She’s a beautiful hot mess!

Her life is filled with broken bottles, broken hearts and burnt out cigarettes.

She promises she’ll quit drinking as soon as she gets her kids back!

But her kids can’t take away the pain her last boyfriend left her with.

So she’ll cope with a little self medication.

Oh! but if only those pills could take the pain away!

She pops them like candy, hoping, begging, just praying they’ll be enough to make her pain free.

Permanently.

But they’re never enough.

Her family calls it a miracle but she believes she’s cursed!

Cursed to suffer, cursed to wake up every morning in her own personally designed hell.

Waiting, just waiting, just desperately praying it will all end soon.

She’s got a revolver tucked away in her closet.

She’s too afraid to used it but she’s too determined to give it away.

Her kids get to see her once a week if she remembers to go visit.

Each time she forgets, her little girl weeps.

He son comforts his little sister, knowing it’s up to him to be strong;

knowing it’s up to him to break the generational curse,

to break the cycle of booze and pills.

But he doesn’t understand how hard his mother really tries!

Really, she does.

She silently attends mass every Sunday morning.

She kneels with the flock and begs that He might make this life worth living.

But her prayers seemingly bounce off the ceiling, returned to sender.

She doesn’t understand why He pours out blessing on so many others and leaves her out.

Doesn’t He see her?

Doesn’t He want to stop her suffering?

She doesn’t think so, so she goes back to the bottle.

And with every swing she hears a still small voice:

I love you. I can take your pain away. Just trust me. You can be free if you just put the bottle down.

And as she chases away sobriety the voice slowly fades.

She finds comfort in the familiar silence of her mind.

But there’s a seed deep within the crevasses of her heart.

It sprouts every know and then.

Without the proper water it dies.

Won’t someone give her water?

Won’t someone pour in?

She’s a beautiful hot mess

With an ounce of hope left;

With an once of rum at the bottom of that bottle.

And that still small voice repeats:

I love you. I can take your pain away. Just trust me. You can be free if you just put the bottle down.

Silence.

Then glass shatters on pavement.