Drowning

          I sat, slouched into myself and the cushions that slyly ignored my body’s plead for comfort. Laughing at the desperation of my spine, they allowed for me to sink further into their seams. I closed my eyes and forced the glass against my broken lips. I tipped my head back and  let the vodka slip between their cracked skin and dance along my tongue with its toxic fluency before burning my throat and settling in a pit of warmth within my stomach. Each sip more subtle than the previous. The cushions let me sink deeper. I exhale the poison but the worst of it still lingers inside of me. I open my eyes again to where we were. Smiling. Laughing. I close and open them once more so that I am looking, again, at the heavy, dark mahogany curtains. The drab colour of the hindering walls made me exhausted, I started easing in and out of my conscious mind. Nostalgic flashes of us. Smiling. Laughing. A sharp shattering sonancy splintered my ears. The fragmented pieces of the glass discovered the neutral carpet and the last sip of poison made love to its neutrality. The chair let me sink deeper.