Friday, December 08, 2006


Is that you? I'm not seeing so clearly. Your voice is just a muffled avalanche of inarticulate sounds. You hold me up as I reach for the bottle. "Don't you think you've had more than enough?" you asked as you pulled me out of reach. "I'm still conscious aren't I?" I slurred as I pulled from your grip and grabbed up the bottle, spilling just as much down my chin as in my mouth. I'm drowning but I'm happy so save your accusations for when I'm dead.

And please don't think that I no longer care, even as I'm shoving you, even as I'm screaming to tear out your throat. And even as my teeth grind in hatred, you know through my alcohol laden kisses that I still love you. I just wish you would stop staring at me. What are you expecting here? I can't tell you what you want to hear, not even when I'm like this. And how do you think it makes me feel knowing that I could destroy you with one little word? I'm filled with guilt for something I haven't even done yet, and from this guilt anger is born, and in that anger I want to destroy you.

But it doesn't take long for me to forget about all that and my loud laugh and slurred yelling lightens my spirits once again, and announces what a mess I really am. But who am I to care when I'm not even me then anyway? I'm just another spectator. I laugh at my stupidity, and shout obscenities at the mirror. I jump on the bed and hit myself just to prove that I don't feel anything anymore.

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