Bottle or Rope


I saw you last night, stumbling over sentences and pretending to be fine. All glassy eyed, nearly weeping through your own punch lines.

You've always been a joker but more recently a fool, the tears of a clown can be seen by everyone in the room.

When you said "Everyone on earth has a limited amount of smiles and I've filled my quota." a little piece of me died.

You're not the boy you used to be, this poison isn't working, it doesn't define you, just stay awake long enough to realise that were all beside you.

But you're too distracted in finding someone to love when you should be looking inside you. Every time you hit a hurdle you crumble and your demons get the best of you.

Then I heard the demons as you do.

"I've been crawling through the mud for so long that any light would blind me, any air would burn and any love would just be pity. I'm so in hate with myself that cutting off my nose to spite my face, to me, would be pretty. I would relish in my own heart's fluid and paint a gallery of pain, crimson masterpieces created from bloodstain. So just hand me a bottle or the rope, the only two things in this bleak existence that might help me cope."

And upon hearing the demon speak, I regret to say,

It was my round anyway.













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