Thunder

Often I see myself walking down the street to my local liquor store. They never ID me because I look old enough. I wish I was strong enough to get better but I’m not. I’m wearing glitter on my eyelids and it’s flowing down my cheeks like I’ve been crying. It feels like war paint. The war is eternal temptation. When I’m doing these things I’m often wearing something scandalous, something dangerous. Before I even take a sip from the bottle I can almost feel it in my stomach. It feels like roaring thunder. And before anyone can stop me it’s too late. I’ve given in once again.