I shake this glass as if the motions will bring you back one day. Liqueur slips through my grasp and tequila tumbles down my throat; I can tell you absinthe tastes like liquorice but it is ***** that shoots my highs to heaven. We chase liquids in place of light, but I wonder if it is these trembling hands and the fever bright fog that consumes my mind that makes it all the more harder to let go.

(A.H.Z)