Tequila Compensation

Tequila Compensation All alone with his tequila compensation. The hallway, like the throat of a beast. He takes comfort in the pain of his self-torture. Averting his eyes from those who are oblivious to his world. All alone with his tequila compensation. Taking another swig in class. His bottle can drown out the voices. His hood can drown out the eyes. He’s never been a part of the whole. Not a root for anything. He has no roots of his own. A weightless, floating astronaut, with no connection to the mother ship. A spawn of vacuum. He is alone in the world, save his tequila compensation. People shove him as he walks by. But he’s too drunk to notice. And too sad to care. No one understands him. But they cannot be blamed, for he doesn’t understand himself. He could get busted wide open. Prosecuted for the only life in his life. But he is through with caring. To lose his only joy, would not matter. For he has lost so many pleasures already. And so much more he never had. All alone with his tequila compensation. He lets nothing interfere. The liquid swallows him whole. And his world becomes it. It is the singular existence. His tequila compensation is the day. It absorbs the shit that comes with his shame. It destroys the heckling insecurities. and he no longer fells alive, and he loves it. A momentary death is his reward for waking up today. But as his bottle runs dry, and his vision is straightened, he dreams. He dreams of someone to love. Who could love him in return. He dreams of a haven where the warmth of safety pulsates beneath his feet. A place where he doesn’t have to rely on his pillow to absorb his sobs. He is afraid. He is afraid of what move he will have to make next. He is afraid of what tomorrow will bring. But as long as he has his bottle, quivering and potent in his tortured hand, there will be no tomorrow. As far as he is concerned, there is no today. The thought brings clarity to his mind. He sits peacefully, in intoxicated bliss and hears the teacher lecture. But suddenly, and as swift as a cat, cold makes nest in his bowels. He pulls up his impenetrable hood over his eyes, and bows his head in drunken anguish.does it suck? if so why? if not why? i need help please. Written December 24th, 2001 © on Dec 24 2001 06:35 AM PST   0 • 1