Amber

The amber liquid lures you in with its deceptive colour, honey gold to reassure you it could never hurt you. Until you taste it, the burn intensifies before it soothes as it goes down your throat. The warm feeling of a hug on the inside tricks you to believe it's a good thing to have one more.

Or two.

Or three.

Grab the bottle.

Words slurred as you find a way to make everything a confrontation. You shout and demand for everyone to notice you, throwing accusations at the innocent. You sneer at the thinly veiled suggestions you've had enough before quietly sobbing at the thought of letting it go. The amber liquid is your only friend and no one else understands what it's like to feel alone, to feel empty until the sweet nectar touches your heart.

A stumble.

Falling down.

Groaning at the injustice.

You make it home after waking up half the neighbours and your children who don't even question why daddy is covered in mud. It's a natural expectation that you'll throw up in the kitchen while you searching for more of that elusive liquid before falling asleep on the stairs. The only difference is that this morning there'll be no daughter to whisper you awake, crying for her daddy to be better. The house will be empty, the car gone with all their clothes and toys for today is when goodbye becomes a reality. And the tears will run ravage down your face as you wonder how it came to this, that you lost everyone. With a whisper, the drink will remind you that it can set you free of pain, that it won't let you be alone ever again. A twist of the cap and it begins again, with no remorse or thought to what you've lost but to the honey coloured liquid that rides in your veins.

The cycle.

Will never.

End.