After last year, I've conditioned myself to crave the comforting embrace of the bottle whenever I find myself in a state of emotional dissonance. And here I find myself, praying for the sting of liquor to somehow find its way to me, and force its toxicity down my throat. And it's 3:17pm on a Wednesday.

For some reason, the normality of this craving never ceases to surprise me.

Self medication.... self preservation.
To me, they are one in the same.

Without the slippery release of the devil's liquid, I'm afraid to consider who or what I would have become by now.

And it's so psychologically draining,
because ever since last year, I've never felt more weak, more imprisoned, more dazed, in my life.

My dependence makes me weak,
My weakness imprisons me,
My imprisonment dazes me,
And in my laziness,
All I know to do is drink.

I've conditioned myself to drink my dissonance away.

It hasn't worked yet,
but I'm not sure I'll ever stop trying.