Taboo by Delilah Sunday

Author:Delilah Sunday
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
Published: 2019-08-29T16:00:00+00:00

Ritual

I didn’t sleep last night, nor the night before. It could be six nights? Maybe it is more.

I didn’t eat today or the day before. It could be six days? Maybe it is more.

I don’t remember who I am, I fear I may be lost, hatred consumes my soul, like a ride I can’t get off.

Time for my ritual, I have done this before, the only thing that comforts me, nothing does it more.

Open a bottle, whatever’s on the shelf. Hoping it’s Vodka as tonight I’m going to hell.

The bed’s not the place to be, I want to be on the floor, think of all the bad that’s happened and hurt myself some more.

I can’t undo what’s been done so torch myself instead, think of my worse memories and relive them in my head.

Sometimes I just need to release the pain I feel inside, everyone handles break ups differently, this is how I do mine.

Makeup running down my face merging into a mask, pour myself another drink, this bottle’s not going to last.

Usually I’m a sunshine person but right now I’m the darkest blue, if anyone saw me now, they’d ask who the hell are you?.

I should be smashed but I’m still sober. Now it’s time to drink sambuca.

The liquorice taste burns my mouth making me warm inside, here I am drinking to all the men who have left my side.

Someone knocks my door but I’m not going to answer, I’ve got Amy Winehouse on, now I play her louder.

Her voice soothes me, her lyrics hit the mark, it’s perfect music to play when you’re swigging in the dark.

Drunkenness evades me and it’s really pissing me off, I’ve smoked a thousand fags and now I begin to cough.

Why can’t I just pass out and wake up in a week? Tell the girls I’m handling it, that life is pretty sweet.

But first I must endure this crazy ritual of mine, don’t know why I do it, guess it is my crazy side.

Things he said in my head and I question the reason why, didn’t even think I liked him, now I feel like I may die.

I stare at the knife block and my mind turns dark, would have been less painful if I had chucked myself in front of a car.

Not that I’d do that, that’s not my scene. I’m more 1950s romance novel queen.

I don’t know what day it is or how long I’ve been awake, I’m still on my floor, what a pathetic state.

Look at the empty bottles and I can count four, think it means it’s three days I’ve been sitting on my floor.

I don’t want to cry anymore, I think my ritual’s done, so now I’ll put a fake smile on and pretend the pain’s all gone.

I will see the girls and they will tell me I’m looking great, then I will smile to myself, they won’t know hours earlier I was a state.

Maybe my ritual isn’t the sanest of things to do, all I know is it works and gets me over you.

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