Your eyes are foggy and full of hate. Your hair is dry and flaking off your head. Your skin is pale and blotchy and you’re stumbling from the alcohol.
You said it tasted good and that I didn’t have to have lots, but even if I did its great fun. Son I had a shot. And then another, and another, and another and another, until I was magotted. I hit my head on something hard, and you just laughed at me.
You told me to join you. Said it was refreshing. So I did. I didn’t want to lose you. I picked up the blade and pulled it across my wrist. You were right. It felt good. But after a while it hurt. And I stopped.
You said it was like a great dream. And you don’t ever have to wake up. So I took the pill. And you were right. It was a fantastic dream of flying high in the sky and eating all the clouds. But then a three headed butterfly began to chase em, and it turned into a nightmare.
You told me it works better. It didn’t hurt at all really. So I did. I took that needle and I plunged it in my body like I had seen you do countess of times. You were wrong. It did hurt. I had to go to the hospital. They said I had a disease from hat needle.
You were right though, but maybe not in the sense you were suggesting. The needle did work better, it worked better at killing me.
You looked down at me on the floor. Your eyes weren’t as they were. They were clear again. And they looked down on me with pity and torment. You had finally realised what you had done. You realised I was gone. I saw you cry. I saw you scream. And in my last moments of life, I saw you die too.