Bottles without their seals or caps - just sitting there,
little foil packets torn open in despair
empty of their contents to make me feel less blue,
leaving nothing in the bottom but white residue.

A pile of poison o' so sweet in a capsule form bundle,
travels down the claustrophobic and murky tunnel,
and sits within the pit of my stomach with it all
drowning in a stream composed of ethanol.

Euphoria sweeps through my veins,
I dance; a ballerina at 4am,
making the very most of my ability
knowing I'll soon breathe my last with docility.