Taking a mouthful of desperation,

perfectly aged, and laced with bitter-sweet memories,

Drinking it greedily. The favorite brand of sadness,

flavored with madness,

and was it cherries?

The bottle of damnation,

and a cup that was forged in the hell-fire.

Sinfull, disfigured lips and poisonous tongue,

lapping at the astringent liquid, feeling young

and depleting the liar.

Gobbling down the liquid,

to see that there’s a glimpse of beauty everywhere.

A reason to live and force the toxic air down battered lungs

Just for chance.

An illusionary God’s created dare.