the last thing I remember:
I shatter a bottle of whiskey on the sidewalk with a spring in my step-
in my peace, I hum.

moments later,
a **** begins to surface on my shin,
but the inebriation keeps my head from noticing the litres of blood on the gravel below,
dripping,
pooling,
draining into the street sewers.

a nearly audible voice counts down from 30.
30...29...28...27...

street lights, flashing turn signals, yet I stand in the middle of it all, taking it in.

I’ve missed what it feels like to feel alive.
...26...25...24...23...

there is a club nearby that has seen better days. the manager has taken to spending time outside rather than inside, and he stands under a streetlamp, looking for something.
...22...21...20...19...

it’s not until I splash through the crimson ponds like rain boots in May puddles that I notice anything slightly amiss.
...18...17...16...15...

shortly afterwards, the scent
and the distillation
of bourbon and bloodstains clogs my ****** orifices,
a liquid mask freezing solid onto my face, eyes, and mouth.
...14...13...12...11...

I collapse in my own filth and doings.
what is happening?

demonic chanting has joined the excitement surrounding me.
...10...9...8...7...

grasping for aid like a child for her mother--
gasping
...6...
car brakes screech to a halt nearby.
...5...
can this—
...4...
help?—
...3...2...

you step out of the car,
grab my hand,
but upon seeing your torn face,
instinct overcomes impulse:

I grab a shard of glass
and pierce it----------------
into my own flesh—

......1...