I was supposed to go to a party today but the host canceled at the last minute. The party came to me. There are inebriated children in my house and their limbs are liquifying sleazily over my mother's favorite sofa.
When I am drunk I act just like myself, except a little more diluted. Imagine I'm a corset cinched tightly on the waist of an upper class woman so hard she can barely breathe. After getting tipsy on cheap wine the woman can inhale and exhale, though with a bit of a struggle. After something a bit harsher all the woman's fat flaps fall out from the stiff fabric and melts over her hips like wax. I'm the corset.
Wax, that's what this shot feels like as it pours down my throat, slick and bitter. It isn't the alcohol itself that is waxy and hard to swallow but the aftertaste of the regret I know I am bound to feel. I throw up through my hands and I am everywhere, I am beyond. My thoughts are jumbled in alcoholic haze and in the drunken stupor clarity slips from my weak grasp like a ferret on acid and suddenly the room is filled with fifty-six ferrets on acid and they're all inside my ribcage and three quarters of them want to get out and I am lost in the whirlwind of intoxication and do I wish to get out I am not sure I kiss a random girl to try to get over my ex-girlfriend but it doesn't work because she is still the standard and I still haven't taken her ice-skating and I need to tell her everything the train is careening off the tracks of reason I think I will go and jerk off on my bed but there is someone knocked out there already and it's not even midnight fuck my life
