Drunk off beer and cheap vodka. I desire, but am too furious with myself to accept touch. I could destroy everything with one fractured blink of my consciousness...Sounds are beginning to echo and my thoughts become dark and cool. My eyes are mercury. Beautiful, quick, and poisonous.

Vodka is a bad drink for me. I want to erupt and put my fist into the mirror. Smash my own image, watch the blood flow onto shattered images of my esteem. Why do I think such thoughts? It must be the unpredictable alcoholic stupor. Self loathing and an overwhelming burn of isolation, overpowering sense and reason.

I am soon blessed with nightmares after my body falls into uneasy slumber...
Rain, falling softly off my hair into the creek at night. Just a lonely boy, the liquid sky mixing with his tears as he tosses rose petals into the water. Watching them float downstream on some dark journey. Willow tree cradles him with rasping arms, lullaby of dead leaves and broken limbs.

I wake, screaming in thin membrane of sweat. Spidery dreams of fingers crawling through my hair. Hallways of skin held together by metal wire, infested with insects resembling blood oranges with eyes on stalks. They can't hurt me anymore.

Now we are halfway between dreams and a conversation...

dude, get help..you are so drunk!

This was written about five years ago when I was drunk. It's simply one of my best examples of writing. I claim no responsibility if it makes people shifty and timorous, maybe they see some of themselves in the words.