Composition

Of what is life composed.? Hours? Minutes? Smiles? Tears? Nothing perhaps. When we analyze it deep enough. Just phantoms in our hearts whose shadows would intersect with various sources of light. Creating images where there should be none. Convincing our eyes we saw things where there was nothing.

These nights are composed of few ingredients. Just time and the wasting of it. I drink all those minutes down a bottle at a time until all are gone to me. There's no need to kill time. You need only just consume it. And soon you will be consumed by.

The composition of reality is only a kaleidescope of perception and memory. The composition of truth being 12 ounces shy of oblivion.

The fact of the matter is that alcohol is the only reason I'm still alive. I'm in love with how slowly it kills. And what a silent death it is.

LIfe. Death. Are comprised of so many things. Alcohol is just a small variable in the composition.

I was always dying. Only now they can see it.