I chugged it.
No, I engulfed it, and in return it engulfed me.
The toxin invited me in a not so pleasant way, but in a way I knew it could take away my pain.
So I began to let myself slip from the small amount of self awareness that I had.
My fingers rapped around the brightly colored plastic cup, and I began to bring the sour smelling drink to my lips.
I paused pondering how bright of an idea this actually was, but continued anyway.
As the drink entered my mouth coating my tongue, I was greeted with a bitter burning sensation that I could even feel in the back of my throat.
I wondered what would happen if I continued this action, but realized I didn't really care to find out.
Until I did, and soon enough I found myself surrounded by those empty cups, that now look too bright for my eyes to handle, and acting a way as if I had no care or awareness of my actions.
Because I didn't.
So I began to drink until my pain became unrecognizable, and my body was soon to be made out of 90% alcohol.
That's when I woke up, feeling worse than I did the night before.
All that was left was a sad sober me, and the faint memory of the night before.
YOU ARE READING
Bath Bombs & Books
Poetry•poetry book/completed:) •the edited version/continuation is out! •go check out my other completed book; "searching for serenity"
