Prize of Poison
I want it. No,need it, the panacea; Or, perhaps the exhilaration of the release trailing after it – unsure which; Does it matter? Drink to numb. Calories purged. Caffeine pulsing. All drenched in familiar relief. The isolation I don’t want, but it’s mine, handcuffed to me, by a rusted padlock made of shame. Read more