Preparing to Leave Hell

This is my submission for the The Halls of Pandemonium day six prompt from Bradley Ramsey, as per the picture below:

I breathe deeply,
a solitary tear drips down my cheek.
That's a lie.
I've gotten good at that.

Lots of tears.

Preparing for change by doing the same thing.
Pub all day. Beer on train.
Steeling myself for an argument.
I need to be an arsehole

one last time.

I need them all gone

and so they are.

One last time alone,
me and my enemy....my beloved.

I sit and sob and shake,
the evening is here.
I haven't bothered turning the light on.
Sitting in the dark.

Detesting myself, detesting
how I've let it control me
to the point I've effectively pushed them away
hopefully for the last time.

This is preparation. My farewell to booze.
A journey I must undertake by myself.
I hate where I am because of it,
but I still love it so much.

Not as much as my daughter though.
Not as much as my girlfriend.
I think.
I hope.

I stagger to the off-licence.
Box of 24 cans should do.
Always Scotch in the cupboard if not.
Forever reliable.

I think the shopkeeper makes a joke.
My ears feel half blocked though.
I live in haze at this stage and my tongue doesn't work right now.
I mumble nonsense as I tap my card on the machine.

I amble back home.

Drinking, dancing with the amber devil,
I put the light on.
Where's my ipod.
Maybe upstairs....too far right now.

Fuck it lets enjoy it.
A bit of one-man karaoke.
What can I do?
A Bill Withers double.

'Lean On Me'. Yep, nailed it.
I can sing even if I can't speak.
Next. Let's do Bill again.
'Lovely Day'.

Is it? Is it a fucking lovely day?
Never liked that song. I go to throw the mic.
Realise I'm just singing to a youtube video
laugh at what was a mimed throw.

Then more tears.
A can will fix it. Always does.
First two don't. Third one starts to.
Think I'll put the TV on.

I find football, though a minute in,
I can't concentrate.
I drag the fairly full box upstairs
find the ipod.

My familiar, comforting
pre-bed routine, when here alone.
Music on, I work through the box,
pass out at some point.

I awaken to light through the window
in the middle of the next day.
People are here.
Things have been tidied.

Nothing spoken of the night before,
a grace granted.
Rest of the day not too bad
a little shaky and sick

but otherwise 'normal'.

Time with family, all together
a Sunday roast, some looks
towards hopefully a bright future.
I play with my six-month old daughter

and put her to bed.

Not long after, I'll head there to.
My journey begins the next day.
Maybe it works, maybe it doesn't.
I know I need to try.

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