Inevitable

This morning

I am

tangled sheets

clinging to the surface of your sea-salted skin.

Marred with bloody knees

from falling off the wagon,

and I know...

I must smell

like liquid regret

because last night,

my cup was always at least half empty.

and when you wake up,

I will tell you

all the ways I have to leave.

There will be potholes in my story,

and you will eventually describe me

as something to be avoided.