Whiskey Neat

One slip, word vomit.

One taste, actual vomit.

The presence is intoxicating. So slippery of a slope, it can be nauseating.

One shot, more. Two shots, floor. Three shots, wait.

I never knew loneliness until I let myself drift away.

Backseat, don't look in the rear view mirror. She's only there if you can see her.

A short pit stop to forever, and she's hopped in the front. She's telling me where to go, and she's giving it to me blunt. She sips whiskey neat, and she's the best version of me I could ever hope to be.

I told her I loved her yesterday, and she replied,

"It's about fucking time. Now watch all the things that will fall into line. Watch that frayed rope that's hanging onto forever brave through all of this shitty fucking weather."

And just like that, the car was empty. Just me, myself, and my empty glass of whiskey.