Light a fire. Burn me. Sharpen your nails. Scratch my skin off. Grab a bottle. Throw it at me. Hold your bottle tight and just hit me. I know you won’t do it but I present my head. Exsanguinate me.

Would it help?

Laugh. Tell yourself it’s a matter of supreme indifference to you if I bled. Take Rhett Butler’s words. Then laugh again.

But inside, you’re letting your doubts kill you. Then you fight. Then you try to shut it out. Then you forget. Then what?

Then I let you.

How does a lie taste like? Would you want to throw up?

Throw me up. Didn’t the universe send you a warning? I’m poison. Dig that.

Poison. Addiction. Reason.

Assumption. Now you know. It will eat at you. It can kill you though I know you won’t let it. You will fight it. Then what?

You don’t know who I am. You don’t know your poison. You don’t know what you’re puking out. You don’t know what you’re intoxicated of. Do you know why? It’s because you think you know. It’s because you think. And will think.
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Originally written on Monday, 11 August 2008 | midnight/drunken sentiments