“You fear me, because whenever I get in your system, you lose control and start spouting truths from your innermost soul and it’s repugnant. Your throat still burns from the heat of the colourless liquid, insipid and fluid, flowing down into the abyss of your stomach and in exchange, words dart up and push from your tongue like a lid. Words pregnant with malice and ill will spill from your lips, swaying like hips into the atmosphere, alive and dancing. And in this distortion you crave abortion. You want to kill the words, let them die before others hear your truth without looking in your eyes, my oh my. Voice wry, throat dry, you want nothing more than to cry but there is no moisture in your throat, surrounded by water but you are remote. Idle on this island but you can’t scream because no-one speaks on this dry land. Heat scorching, you cower, there’s an inferno in your soul. It burns doesn’t it? That hole. Alcohol.”





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