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.