I search for answers in this bottle because they are probably at the bottom.

Every sip that burns my throat reminds me of the sting in your words,

be it only a fraction of the intensity.

With every glass I empty I can feel myself slipping.

This room has started spinning and I can feel the sanity dripping from

my eyes as I reach for something sturdy and it collapses underneath me.

As I drag myself off the floor with the last of my will, I decide I need a cigarette.

I walk out on the deck and light one, breathing in the fumes of relief and

depression as my brain fights to decide which one I deserve the most.

I inhale deeply. Letting the realization of loneliness envelope me, and the nicotine dull my nerves.

This moment is raw.

Just me, my thoughts, and the burning end of this cigarette.

But soon the tip will burn down. I’ll be alone in the dark with nothing other than my bad ideas.

I find this to be my biggest fear.


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