It’s like a drug.

I found this piece on my old Livejournal. Now, for the younger kids, Livejournal was the blogging site you met people on before there was Myspace and Facebook. I had many pages there but my ApathyKiss page was where I went to write dreams, poetry, and the rambling poems that were void of punctuation I would spew out at random. This particular piece was a favorite of mine that I edited and would love to share with you beautiful people.

I took a sip. Subtle at first, not much bite but the aftertaste made me crave more. It’s delicious.

When the glass was taken from me I pouted the best little girl face you could imagine creating. I could almost smell the bubble gum and dirt.

Twice it was taken, and twice returned.

When the glass returned the second time, it was a bigger glass, and the liquid had been changed. It’s been a while since the fine wine, and now with the first sip, the flavor had changed. The taste haunted me and the lingering drops were intoxicating. I took a few more sips and cradled the glass as I would a fragile animal.

When the glass was taken away, I tried not to notice, I tried to act like nothing happened. I tried to pretend I didn’t care. But inside my body was ripping apart for another sip. Just a drop, to lick the inside of the cup, anything. Don’t do this to me. You created the thirst and then denied me the pleasure of my drink!

The glass comes back after much pain and sorrow of the loss. It was handed to me with a smirk by the waiter and he sauntered away to assist other customers. He knew what I was in for. The glass now has wear and tear but it only added to it’s charm. Funny, I never noticed the details of the cup before, only the contents. The goblet was clear and I could see right through it. I could see into the eyes of the person across the room, that’s how clear the glass was. But the stem of the goblet was a masterpiece all in it’s self. It’s beautiful. Vines wrap dangerously around the glass and seductively cling to every dip and curve. The end of the vine snaked out and like a tongue, curled from the edge of the base. I could see the wine inside and I felt my mouth water at its existence. My heart beat quickened and my palms began to sweat. I thanked God I was alone at the table, for anyone here would surely think me mad for the exquisite pleasure a few sips of good wine will give to me.

I took the first sip and closed my eyes. It felt like home. It had the same flavor, the same texture, the same aftertaste. But now it had a bite. And the bite threw me back, bringing my eyes open in a flash and tears springing to the corners. The waiter approached with the same devious grin, “Why are you crying, milady? Is the wine not to your liking?” I responded that the wine was perfect, thanked him, and sent him away. I took my glass and held it delicately in my shaking fingers. I needed to be alone. I walked to the open terrace doors and swung them open with my foot, I couldn’t let go of the cup. My hair streamed behind me and the wind tossed my long dress all around my body but I didn’t care. I don’t care. My eyes were wild and I stared into the cup deeply, as if it was telling me something. I took another sip, taking more into my mouth than I could swallow, but I needed more. I was greedy and needed more to fulfill the thirst.

Each sip was something different. In this one, I let the liquid rest on my tongue and I closed my eyes. The meadow came to life under the night sky and I could smell each individual flower. Each flower that was created with precision and care, I could smell the nectar that it held. I let some wine fall down my throat and with my greedy heart the entire gulp went down. The burning of the strain in my throat brought tears to my eyes once more and a frost to my meadow. All the plants were dead. The fog rolled in and I felt like I would never breathe again. The tears were rolling down my cheeks and I panted for breath. I wanted to scratch at my throat and call out for help, open the terrace doors that slammed shut behind me, but… the wine. The wine was my priority now. I couldn’t desert it. Now that I’ve found this flavor, I couldn’t let anyone take it from me again.

I quickly began drinking the glass, trying to push the gulp through my system and draining the cup of all contents but it never ended. No matter how much I drank, there was always one sip left. “Do you mock me?” I said out loud to no one. “Do you mock me with your ambrosia? This damnation has taken away any dignity and spirit I have and you choose to let me keep begging and indulging?”

I’ll never break free of the glass. I’ll never break free from the wine. I’ll never get my meadow back.

I stared at the goblet I gripped in my fingers. My knuckles were white from my grip and blood was dripping from my hand. The serpent vine had sliced through my palm. Blood too? You want my blood?

I’m tired. I’m intoxicated. I’m bleeding. I’m crying.

Taking the goblet in the other hand, I tossed it over my shoulder and walked to the terrace doors. I waited for the smash. I waited for the breaking of glass, but when I turned my head, I saw it resting calming on the terrace wall. Well. Fine.

I strolled in and took my seat. Everyone was looking at me, I could feel it. Everyone was asking who I was and why my hand was bleeding. The waiter came to my assistance and cleaned my hand, then asked if I wanted anything.

“Yes. A drink.”

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