Poison.

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"What's your poison?" The guy next to me asks,offering to buy me a drink. "His name is like gold And he breathes the air into my lungs" I say,a small smile forming on my face. Weeks later I return to the same barstool. "Pick your poison." The bartender shouts over the loud,rhythmic beat of the club. "Poison he is. Bitter and burning me as poison should." A single tear escaping my eye as I look down in pain. Months later I stand staring in the mirror. "What's your poison?" My reflection spits at me,the obvious venom in it's voice. "Sometimes,old poisons make for remedies." I spat back,downing the bottle of Jack Daniels with the last bottle of pills. I pick up my phone,dial his number and wait. He answers I hear his girlfriend ask who it is,as he walks away to talk. "Hello?" He asked,a sliver of joy in his voice. "I picked my poison." I whisper shakily. "You were always my poison. And I picked you." The tears break through like a river through a broken damn. "What?" He asked confused. "What's your poison?" I ask laughing softly as I hang up and lay across the bathroom floor,watching the world fade out.

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