I want to drink. And no, I’m not talking about water, or milk, or coffee or any other non – alcoholic beverages you may have in mind.
I want to feel the warmth and faint stinging sensation of the vodka on my taste buds, through my throat and finally, down in my stomach. I’d let it wallow there, even for just a fraction of a second and watch the whole world in a dazed, slightly drugged perspective. I want to roll over stained bunk beds, to eat the corners off glossy magazines, and to throw cabbages and chocolate at people. I want to trip and crawl my way to the kitchen and wonder what got me there in the first place.
I want to silence the contradicting voices inside my head, to tame my demons, and to hear only the thumping sound inside my chest even just until the next hang over. I want to drink until my breathing becomes a bit labored, and my skin is flustered with the toil of my heart to keep pumping blood through constricted blood vessels.
I want to drink. But all I have is water, or milk, or coffee, and you in my mind.