I hate it here…

Once again. A few drinks in and idc to be here. Knowing the game they creates life isn’t real. From the strangers that come along to find themselves unforgettable at times is overrated asf. But it’s all part of the bs that last for so long so scars left? Luvr’s that fade? A lifestyle subject to eventually change the expressions upon the face?  As it only takes a lil too much poison to think in depths. Just wanting it to be over to the mind can actually rest. To be done with the financial entrapment of societies glamour that don’t mean shots to the words repeated by the cults to entrap you thought process willing to play along to be as safe as distasteful words dripping from the bottom lip. It’s in the middle of the night when the booze transform the hidden into rare form. Reminding self of his bad the crave wants it to end to escape the endless norm. When even crossing thresholds to a better life are just imaginative things that laugh in silence. Lighting a fire within to the same ol reoccurring defiance. To be seen behind the eyes when the alcohol is too heavy to consume. Simply wanting the lunatic deep beneath the pressure to free the heart from the darkness creeping into the room. There’s a bit of hatred to be when one never wanted the opportunity to choose to exist. With truths tucked in on the opposing side of smiles that lead the way. Saying fuck it in moments where the release settles the nerves edge eating the pain. Damn the liquid potion that rekindles life as if the past can never meet the future long enough to last. 6 feet down calls the body dining slowly into the inevitable comfort of  energy here determined to give up for a different path. On the other side if there it’s one is the gamble waiting for the crossover to show the prose no one knows for sure. Liquid death digs low enough to attract the disgust in the core. But one more shot will help forget how much it sticks to be alive. Even though it’s the only thing that is as beautiful as sunsets drifting light…