Bitter Memoir

A circumference of garbage is strewn about my laggard body. Between the moments of slight and dyslexic words creeping past my inebriated lips, I see the reason I'm so torn. A blurred silhouette hangs deliriously in my wavering sight. I'm ashamed, the voice confirms how apparent the indignity is written across my disconcerted face: 'You're fucking wasted.'

'Plaaastr'd,' I try to correct the voice. Do I even know who it is? Of course I do, but I pretend not to. I despise the acrid taste in my mouth, which likely poured through my slightly parted lips and shining nostrils. My mistakes are written across the floor, upon my face, and are deeply imbedded within my tainted spirit. I hate the fact the figure lingers, but the instant it turns to leave I'm inflicted with an unbearable weight in my chest. I don't cry out for him to stay, my pride is too great. I just watch him go. We're better off alone, but oh God... how I need you. It took me so long that night to figure out you were just an illusion. No one could conceive of how alone I felt once I realized the truth. Now I can't shake the feeling and the sharp reality of it all. You couldn't possibly have left... because you weren't here to begin with.