Yesterday’s stench rises from your lips, as you lean closer to whisper sweet nothings. I turn my cheek while vomit spews on my tongue; wincing at its sour taste, I swallow, wishing I was anywhere but here.
I watch you like a buoy in high seas, stumbling in your own drunkin’ stupor. My face only a blur to you, while your mouth tries to form slur after slur.
You r e a c h
for someone, something to catch you
d
o
w
n
you fall,
crumbling like a rag doll.
Struggling with each breath, as your body weakens, you lose perspective of the fight you have now forgotten, until moments before your last breath,
finally you see clearly what I see,
disgust.
Keystroke Stories 