My shaking hand raises the detested cup.
It clanks an enchanting melody.
My cursed ambrosia, my dear guillotine.
It fills my putrid mouth.
The tongue winces in childish delight.
Red drips trickle down my chin.
My eyes gaze into nonentity.
One hard swallowing,
Nails biting in flesh.
My haggard body
shivers in spastic bliss.
The throat is on fire.
The stomach protests.
A tired sigh, as the room spins.
Just another one of countless
I know the purpose of life:
To die addicted.
These shards of glass I drank.
They mean everything to me.
No matter how deep the cuts,
This world will always shine brighter.