their veins bleed alcohol.
drinking is the only way to get their hearts, their tired hearts, beating. they drown their pain in vodka, enjoying the way it dances on their tongues. they wash away their hatred in whiskey, loving the way it sings in the back of their throats.
they need this.
shaking fingers hold broken bottles as the world spins away from reach. they're killing themselves slowly.
but all they can do is lay on the bathroom floor with their drink of sorrow lying empty next to them and their mouths screaming to the stars for death to come faster.
they call this self-destruction*.
* - an event which occurs when you hit the lowest point in life, usually caused by overwhelming sadness.
