One of my prose works on depression, suicidal feelings & self medication through alcohol. |
Living Dead by Thomas Lee Peterson He reaches for the liquor, as if reaching out for something to hold on to. After pouring a glass, he holds the bottle close to him as though it were a lover. It is better than a lover, it's feelings can't be hurt. It doesn't judge or criticize, and always gives him exactly what he needs, a temporary fix. It makes him forget his problems, for a while. It gives him the strength and courage he needs to go on living. It is his god. His mind is shattered, his soul bleeds, his heart breaks, and though he feels he can't, this precious elixir helps him carry on. He doesn't believe in happily ever after any more. Not knowing what the future holds and with this sharp clear liquid is all that keeps him alive. Were it not for the things he would miss, he wouldn't have survived this long. If he were dead tomorrow it wouldn't matter, for he longs for death's sweet embrace. While even he is not aware of it, he is already dead, he stopped living long ago. He turned his back on life when life turned it's back on him. He's just a walking corpse now; just another member of the living dead. |