Sorrow In A Quarantine Room

September 29, 2008
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.

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