Writer's Block.

Liquors.

You have a glass of wine in one hand and the bottle in another because you need to laugh and you haven't smiled since you watched him turn his back on the roller coaster of turbulent emotions that you called love and he walked away and you just need to forget what it feels like to have tears trace icy tracks down your cheeks.

Here we go again, with a red cup of cider that reminds you of those summer nights but now you're not drinking it because it was all you could get your hands on, you're drinking it because you hope that the headache it will leave you with will distract you from the pain the shards of your broken heart are tearing into your skin.

And when that doesn't work, you throw back tequila like it's lemonade because you think that the fire it starts in your throat will stop the water that's filling up your lungs and leaving you gasping for air like you're drowning but you forgot that water trumps fire every time.

So you take a glass of peach schnapps because if you can't distract yourself from the pain at least you can try and take away the taste of poison that he left in your mouth and on your lips when he kissed you but to truly get rid of it you'd have to bathe yourself in the liquor because his lips seemed to trace every square inch of your body and there isn't a centimetre left unscarred by his feather-soft kisses.

At a loss, you cry "Are you there vodka?" because you've realized that he broke your walls beyond repair and took every piece of you worth having and you gave every thing you had to give so now you want to forget and you want to let someone else run their hands through your hair and their fingertips over your collarbone and their mouth over you hipbone because maybe they could be the one to take away the pain, maybe they could be the one to make you feel numb.

-Ploys.