My Poem?

I am doing some detective work. I found this poem in an old notebook and the scratchings out etc. make me think I must have written it but somehow I don’t recognise it at all. Anyone know if it is from someone else. It feels a bit Simon Armitage but I can’t find it in his work. I do love his poetry so maybe I just absorbed and reproduced his style. Any leads gratefully received:

Usually the words skip over your surface

Like flat stones

The surface tension of the alcohol keeps them out of you

Until exhausted, they sink, unpoliced, laying amongst the others

This time, sober, the thing I said,

Not flat but big and clumsy and brick

Hit you straight on

And opened you down to the bed, to the bone

And though the hole closed up again

The damage was done

And the word lay there

Distinct, visible and this time causing ripples

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