Ballad of a Dying Girl [✔]

8.

despair is a different kind of drink.

it's sweet, the way candy is.

bitter, the way vinegar is.

it is addictive like alcohol,

clouds the senses like liquor,

and makes one's head throb the next day,

like you have overindulged too much.

it becomes your best friend, 

your worst enemy,

yet you can't help but down it every night, 

especially in the evenings, 

when darkness curls over your vision,

and fatigue lances through your worn-out, dying body.

it is a lie, this tiredness,

the warmth of your bed.

if you sink into it,

you may find yourself never waking up.

the drink despair is like a poison, bitter and acrid.

it dulls the senses,

leaves you craving death like it's some kind of meal,

one that you have always sought after.

even when you refuse the drink,

aim to sweat it out,

it is forced down your throat.

there is no escape from despair once it lives in your veins,

has settled into your bones.

it smooths back your hair,

grins wretchedly as the great end nears.

it makes your last moments bitter, 

wasteful,

but you can't bring yourself out of this despair-induced fog.

you long not for goodbyes,

not for one last sunset,

but to forget you ever were born in the first place.

once you uncork the bottle, it's all over.