More lousy prose.

Drink down another bottle baby; if you're lucky you'll make the night disappear into a blurred memory that will haunt your dreams. If you're lucky you'll destroy enough of yourself to wipe away all the good times you had together, because you can't stand to think of them anymore. They hurt worse than the bad times, because you know it was all for nothing. Nothing. If you're lucky, the liquor will erase every part of you from this life. And how you wish it would, with a desperation that tightens your chest and leaves a lump in your throat.

But we both know there's no luck in your life. Only despair, only loneliness, only an anger that burns in your lungs so that you breathe fire onto anyone who tries to get close. Kick and scream away their false intentions and hidden agendas, because you know they'll just leave in the end. They all lie to you; watch their lips and hear the words and know that they'll say anything just to get what they want. Smart girl. Your life is full of mistakes and fair-weather friends who keep you close only when they want something, but you've had enough now. You've had enough of giving and only getting lies and pain in return. They're all the same. Might as well skip the middle step and stay alone, for always.

Black eyes and red lips fulfil yet another cliché, 'cause no one likes a girl who cries in a drunken stupor. She holds onto the ground like it's the last thing stopping her from being sucked into the sky, into the darkness that's already consumed so much of her. Pretend to care, and still she'll turn her head when you try to kiss her. She can't do it, and still you keep on asking. She can't do it. There's no trust in her mind, and no love in her heart. Please, she can't do it. Just leave her alone in her misery. Leave me alone.