I’d be the first to admit I’m the most scared of breaking, especially when I’ve run my friend’s Super Glue dry. All that time spent mending my broken heart- I never thought to save room for rebuilding a body bent in half. All the harshest words that could have been said, she found hidden in the back of her throat. The words, like bullets, had grown in number before she unleashed the demon she had been harvesting for a year. Though she’d hate to kill me, she gutted me from the inside until I felt nothing back. By nothing - I mean- I’ve never felt worse- so I would just wish I would die. .That night I should have died. So with a hollow body and a heart that’s only use is to pump blood, I’d prove her wrong the only way I knew how. Until I realized I knew nothing at all. For I was nothing more than a nothing to the someone I thought would care. So better than knives and scars there is an easy way out of my head through bottles and glasses. To take the burn away from my heart and redirect to my liver. My lips fit better over bottle tops that night, throwin vodka back over my tongue to feed blood shot eyes. The room spins back. I feel like I’m playing tricks on myself. For this foolish second I think : “I’m not really here, this isn’t really me,” but these people’s faces fadeout, my voice gets louder Just so I can hear myself think over my drink, to reassure my numb lips are still able to find the bottle. I’ll let the countdown begin before total self destruction... But wouldn’t you know, what happened next would be the very thing that would change my life, and leave me missing for a day... unbeknownst to myself and the rest of small population of this world who pretended to care. ...TO BE CONTINUED...