This doesn't faze me at all. Your speech is slurred. Another bottle has vanished in sight. As we sit down on the linoleum floor our minds drift into a vague surrealistic place. With a serene composure I visualize a morgue. As I get up I suddenly realize I'm in a hospital. The same hospital where you died of a tragic death. The therapeutic anesthetics couldn't help you for a second. I had no apathy for your situation. You brought malice to yourself. I only tried to help you, but you refused to listen. I walked into the quarantine room. As I palpitate in shock of seeing your corpse I ignore the fact that your dead. As i glare into the deserted halls something catches my eye.I watch your wraith drift by. Trying to cover its sorrows with pretty smiles. As i douse the lights in the morgue I give obscene gesticulations to your wraith while storming out of that hospital. You are only left as a memory. Your corpse and that hospital bed. Your memories bring me agony. Just the thought of you surreptitiously going around drinking. May your soul rest in peace cause i know I wont with the thought of you being dead. Of all the memories I have cherished this one is different. Ice cold tears race down my cheeks. You have corrupted your life to death.
Sorrow In A Quarantine Room
September 29, 2008