I used to think to have a drink no matter where it be, would bring me bliss that I would miss when sober thoughts haunt me, but what I've found through many rounds of shots what matters most, is quality of company and most of all the host.
something had snapped. I had severed our bond on a whim the cut became irreversible and I watched my helpless efforts of mending it fall into space as the warmth flowed out of my body until there was nothing left in my worthless veins and I was cold and empty again
every day feels like a blank page I stare into emptiness as words fly into one ear and out the other always telling myself that I'll make something out of each new page I am given that I might fold it into something new but I'm always too afraid I might mess up the structured square that is my life.