Musings of a dumb bitch

Vocatus

Such a gorgeous sound.
The flowing streams of Eden, puddles next to the oceans of Dionysus.
Burnt amber tears.
Clear and still like a brook.
Deep velvet bloods.
Coating the tounge and pulsating the throat like a gentle lover as it whispers nothing in your ears.
The burning acid sting of the bleach I'd rather be downing.
Drowning.
It all melts into that warm foggy nothing.
Nothing.
How quickly it comes and goes.
No wonder I fall in love.
Encased in crystal, in oak barrels and whatever dusty shit I found in the backs of cupboards.
Because anything will do.
I let it take the wheel, it slips through my blood and fills my skin.
I make the best decisions with it.
Or is it the worst?
It depends which one of us you're asking.
But it's no matter.
It rests hazily in the backs of cupboards in tears and late night texts to the wrong people.
And I don't care.
I don't care if it's bad or unhealthy.
It's there.
And that's all that matters.

Even the good days, the perfect tableau, can be improved by the fall of the heavy bottle.
It comes to me often; that thought.
"God, I need a drink..."
I find myself saying it more often and I listen more now.
Just a quick sliver down the hatch but the scorched scars lie in my flesh.

And what's the alternative?
One always takes a hug over a knife in the skull.
Who cares though?
Not me. That's certain...
And it's nice to believe.
Maybe I just want someone to worry.
Probably.
No matter really.
It's down now and I'll go for more later.
Merry Christmas to most, and to some a good night.