Monday, October 8, 2012

Falling Toward Oblivion

The more drinks, the less pain. Until THE drink. Then, the most pain.

A fine line. Often crossed. A game of chicken with a soul. A dangerous game.

Quiet and awkward. Then, life of the occasion! Then, obnoxious and arrogant.

Crawl up and curl up and shut up and hide away for a spell. The fun is part is when you realize NO ONE WILL MISS YOU.

They never have, they never will. They will say, "We love you," but they only love the way saying that makes them feel.

Blink and yawn. Check the pulse. Stretch in the general direction of a person who will never understand. Yearn. Drink.

You know that feel? Yeah, that one. This'll make it go away. I have to make it go away. Why won't it go away? All I want is for this feel to go away.

"We love you."

Go away.

They are sad.

Drink. Smile. Laugh. Make merry. Kill a bum. Do something more regrettable. Go away.

Drink. Drink drink drink.

Oh no. Rushing into the crisp, still evening. When does a blink become sleep? How do you fall with style? What is the name of that drink I had that one time I met that lady who laughed at my stupid jokes?

My God, I'm delicious.

My God, I'm delicious.

My God, you're delicious.

My God, this drink is delicious.

A delicious drink for a delicious guy who knows a delicious girl.

"We love you."

Go away.

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