whiskey Nights

Another goddamn day wasted, talking to walls with eyes. They don't get it, and they never will. Whiskey night comes, that sweet scent takes my breath away. Just a little sip, and my throat starts burning. An empty room, just me and myself, the only time I feel like I don't have to pretend. Not quite alive, but not quite dead. Again the sun intrudes, a cruel reminder I'm still breathing. Empty bottles rolling here and there. Time to pretend again.