The kitchen was silent,
all except for my steady breathing
and her jagged inhales.
I watched blankly
as she threw back another shot,
tossing her knotted,
but golden hair playfully,
enjoying the sting of the alcohol
sliding down her throat.
No job, no income,
but just enough Christmas cash
to buy one more bottle.
She began to laugh hysterically,
cackling, a joyous, yet sinister sound
as she poured herself another drink.
The dim lighting glimmered
off of the glass bottle in her hands,
and at that moment,
I somehow believed in the promise
of that sleek, shiny beacon,
so I snatched the bottle away from her,
taking a large gulp of the white hot liquid
that would soon drag me six feet under
with a carnation in hands as frigid
and just as pale as snow.
YOU ARE READING
Euphony
Puisi⌲a collection of poetry There is not a collective theme that I would place all of these poems under. I write and publish them whenever an idea comes to mind, therefore updates may not be consistent. Poems are also in order from newest to oldest. Th...
