When I was a child, I liked to count

I often counted how much it would take for something bad to happen

In fact, I do it often now

I count as high as I can to make it impossible

To make reaching that number as impossible as jumping off the ground and touching a cloud

I do it when I'm anxious or when I need reassurance

But, you see, there's something that kills me on the inside

I watch her, from another room

She stares at the TV with glazed eyes

I know she's dead inside; I can feel it

Of course, I don't say anything; what could I say?

She used to be so brilliant, with so much light surrounding her

And now, she's a fraile mountain of vunerability

She wants it

We all know it

She wants the alcohol to burn the back of her throat and sizzle in her stomach

Somehow, after months of being "clean"

She finds a way to get just what she wants

My teacher once said to me "America's currency has no value, we only believe it because the government tells us so."

Well, in this place I stand, it does have value

America's dollar bill and two quarters are the difference between her life and her death

Because, that amount of money can buy her happiness

An addictive, burning sensation in the back of her throat

And a sizzling in her stomach

Just 16 ounces of pure, raw, happiness

And now, I count impossibly

I count as high as the wind carries the birds

And finally, I stop at infinity

As if that amount would be where it'd kill her

Inifinity amount of alcohol

I smile at the thought

But I know something that horrifies me through every bone in my body

She doesn't need an infinite amount of 16 ounce cans to kill her