The last drink of the night. At least it should be.
The thoughts are creeping in. I know if I close my eyes, they’ll invade completely.
Finishing this drink, topping it off, makes the thoughts stop.
I can’t ever fall asleep. Can’t close my eyes. Finishing this drink will ensure the choice is no longer mine. My brain won’t be in control. Alcohol will be.
Maybe that’s exactly what I want.
Alcohol is easier than the constant pull of death.
Sometimes I’m sick of this world. All of the pain that it brings.
I want out.
I fucking want out.
Passing out is easier than the choice I’m left with.
Misery at its finest.