1 AM (Past Midnight)

Lights. Bass. Sweat. Pain.

I slowly stretched my arms as I reached out for consciousness. I squinted, but my eyes were greeted by the nauseating neon lights.

“Where am I?”

The truth was deafening. I may have had drank more than the usual. Flashbacks of every alcohol intake came in a simultaneous rhythm with my head’s throbbing pain and the music’s bass. The bitter aftertaste of mixed pre-vomit fluid and alcohol is nowhere near curing my sick stomach.

 “Why did I let this happen?”

I inhaled deeply, notwithstanding the dreadful smell of sweat, alcohol and cigarette, while I try my best to ease my palpitations.

“Now what?”

My hands slowly crept towards the edge of the leather seats as I harshly clenched my teeth.

“This went out of hand.”

On and off the lights went – like every coming of alcohol and letting go of hands. Every drink that slid down my throat rippled waves of euphoria bursting into all the possible hues my eyes could detect. But bass after bass, I find myself squinting; trying to remind myself that this escape is still reality itself, and this is nothing but an attempt to preoccupy the once-filled with warmth with the fake kind. The shivers and shedded sweat renounced as quickly as how I allowed myself to wallow in pressure to take in more shots than I could manage. I guess that’s just how it is: that in order for one in pain to feel again, the only choice is to inflict more.

I have to get out of here.



3 AM

Smoke. Pulse. Barefoot.

My feet led me out in the fresh air. Like an impulse, I found myself surrendering to the truth.

“It’s late.”

Compose yourself. Inhale. Exhale.

“I have to get going.”

I still have myself.

“I’m home.”

Let regret take its own course – swallow my being and spit me into a pit of shame. I may not know how and why I let myself be in this position, but I know within myself I needed time. What’s done is done and nothing could be done about it anymore, but one thing’s for sure. Keep on breathing even if fresh air won’t come fresh as expected. Time after time, the past may haunt like how smoke crashes in with the breathable air. Inhale and accept the truth, but don’t forget to exhale. Let go. I let the pain worth the while; dent my perception, scratch my soul and tear my heart over and over again. Pain is beauty, and beauty is pain. I am a pulse, a regular one. This shall pass. It will, and I will make it on my own – barefoot and all.

I have to keep going.

5 AM

Shadows. Cigarette-scent.

The sky will shift from deep dark blue to orange with subtle pinks and purples in a few.

“I will become like that.”

The darkness, I prefer. Let my feelings flourish on the grounds of ache and disgust.

“I need to sleep.”

While the sky slowly shifted to brighter shades, I expected my heart to feel the same. However, something so simple pinched my heart so bad; from something I least expected to do so. I saw my shadow grew darker and darker every minute. I shifted my gaze every now and then between it and the sky. Funny how something that meant happiness would burrow me farther back to where it all started. Madness, I say, how sadness lingers on like a disease. How everything I see keeps on pulling me back to the place I least wanted to be. Eyes closed, I slowly drift away from last night; the lights, the sky, and you. I won’t drink again.

…or maybe I will.



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