something i hate— alcohol.
we glorify ichor on the tongue of a boy who has downed ten bottles of moonshine. and how when he is drunk, it is off the memories of a girl who used to live on the good side of town; too good for him. he is all copper and all hands.
why do we think alcohol creates poetry from mellifluous lips? apparently— vodka is beautiful, wine is beautiful. they make a boy more complex and a girl more broken.
and what we don't get is how it changes the way we think. it is not pulchritudinous how she is vomiting up ethanol from her putrid insides, spilling out on the freezing wood floor she lays on; it hasn't been cleaned in three months and she's laying in filth, but i guess that's beauty to you— being a fragment of the marquise she used to be.
i assume being around an alcoholic has changed the way i think. it is no longer 'let loose, alcohol is like halcyon through your blood streams,' it is, 'please don't get too drunk, don't let me drown in stupefaction because you can't feel the bones in your own body.'
in a way, to you, alcohol is the pomegranates on hades altar.
to me, it is the noxious poison that sits in the roof of my mouth.
