Suicide

The bottle beckons.
It is so shiny and beautiful.
Should I accept the chance?
Should I take the risk?
My demons are back again.
They whisper ugly somethings in my ear.
My soul shrivels at their harsh words.
The bottle calls again.
I can almost taste the cloying sweetness.

It whispers of blank dreams
and shelter and love.
Should I believe it?
It promises to never abandon me
and to be with me always.
Yes, that is what I want.
I want all of that.

The bottle opens with a pop.
The promises are no longer whispered,
they are clearly said.
Raising the bottle to my lips, I hesitate.
Should I?
The promises become guarantees.
I want those things so bad.

The overbearing, sickening sickness
fills my mouth and numbs my body.
Yes, the promises are being fulfilled.
I will never be alone...