it was then, when her insides stung from vodka and midori and other poisons, did she feel the most empty. the ghost happiness that flowed through her veins and washed over her with quick adrenaline from last night was gone now, leaving behind burning loneliness that bore holes in the organs she needed the most. her lungs could not breathe. her heart could not beat. and her stomach could not digest anything anyone could give her.
she puked up her memories on the blankets she slept in, a disgusting mix of colours against the white of her sheets. her throat, that had welcomed the drink so readily and with thirsty craving for escaping dizziness, stung with regret and vile stomach acid.
never, never ever, again. she choked out, a voice not hers, all tired and weak and laced with pain. but she knew, she needed it. this magical elixir that faded reality and made her believe that she could be happy.
that drink made her dance. made her laugh at everything. made her look in the mirror and see a smile. and she knew she was addicted. and she knew it was poison. but still she rose the glass of fire to her lips again so she could feel it's burn slide down her throat.
YOU ARE READING
nostrum
Poetry‣ nostrum noun { a medicine prepared by an unqualified person, especially one that is not considered effective } - = ≡ ___________ [ previously published as " pills and alcohol " ] ◂
