Alcohol flowing through my veins as if tapped into them by an IV. Needles and pain flowing until I scream, laughing. Warm inside, a false reality of alcohol and drugs that flash through my mind.
Avoidance of thought and memory, pain and triumph, however little there are of each. Desperate searches for plaintive holidays, a vacation from what is real - though reality is merely my perception of it... and who am I to perceive the reality that I embody?
It's good to be warm.