Yes, we've met before,
on a chilly night in November.

I remember the taste of you so vividly...
it almost kills me.

The pinkish liquid strayed down the side of the bottle I kept it in, trying desperately for an escape just the same as I.

I didn't drink to destroy the loneliness of this torn heart, but instead to feel better about what was happening outside my bedroom door.

Each night I wondered why I was ever born if I am not wanted, and I fear I may never know the true answer.

The house is barely ever silent anymore, on the rare occasions it is, it is only me. Atleast aside from those unnerving silences right around each tense moment hanging in the air.

The atmosphere here is full of anger and in my case, fear.
I want to leave but I know that right now I cannot do so.

I eye the hidden drink as it calls to me from its place. I can no longer resist. This drink could be my new savior, because I do not know how much more severing my skin can take.

Even now the opening of flesh must be plotted out carefully and precisely at the right time, or else it may be found and another night of fear may ensue.

Tears flood out so easily now but the alcohol seems to hinder them.

This drink, I know, will destroy me in the end. But I always knew I'd amount to nothing more.

The way it does nothing at all to "fix me" or erase all my painful memories makes me dislike it heavily...
Yet at the same time, it could be my new and improved home.