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Pity Party
July 29, 2018
In a constant state of nothingness,
I scream through a mixed drink desolated lonesomeness.
Salt bubbles into flesh wounds caused
by long nights I no longer can remember by day's light.
Through slurred words and slow reactions,
My existence becomes inconsequential.
There are far too many bodies in this imprisoned space,
Names slip the mind faster than the alochol running down my throat for it to matter.
Drinking away the existence crisis,
I sink within the bubbles of that alochol that made my own oblivion.
© Jess B., Nottingham, United Kingdom
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This piece about someone who carries their weight in silence. Covering their pain and suffering through drunken actions. No longer caring just as long as loneliness voice seeps away from their head, even if it is only for a night.