Blood on the Wall

I kicked in the door and found a whole new down-low area to my psyche; A door I had no idea was there. A corridor of behavior I didn't think possible. Inside was a writhing pit of curious creatures, dancing to strange rhythms from dark, inchoate times. These creatures took me on a journey I can not recollect, nor do I care to.

The first night. I start off reading at the bar, some good ol' Hunter S. Thompson. I'm at the bar to catch the last band, The Bad Things. I implore the bartender that I must maintain through their set, please, dear lord.

And, I do, all the way until the last song. They played my request for "The Drunkest Little Clown", and then I blacked out and became the drunkest little clown.

A flash of memory. Am I having sex?
Another flash. Why am I naked on someone else's couch? And who are all these other naked people? Are these my friends or some strange terrorists?

And, then, I wake up at home. Weak, and thoroughly sick. A few minutes of correspondence reveals some details of the previous night. Wicked and devious details. I choose to forget what I've just heard and get food.

I can barely eat. A few hours later, I finally get through my one meal. Again, I get ready to go out. When you're on a roll....

At the bar, I'm seeing friends and some new faces. I see the one who has my heart. A new sadness blooms, and I find my dear friend, Jim Beam.

A flash. Hanging with a couple of friends and laughing at the bar.

I wake up. And this is when I knew I can't do this again. I looked around in horror and embarassment. And then pain.

My entire living room was a whirlwind of disaster. My coffee table was overturned and all the decorations were torn off the wall. I look down and see blood all over my pants and hands. Two giant cuts on my palm and my knuckles all swollen.

I get up and wade through what seems to be about twenty to thirty empty containers of jello-shots. Inbetween these green and red little devils lie crunched and empty PBR cans. A smell of stale, spilt beer fills the air.

A pain shoots up from my foot. My pinky toe is completely bludgeoned and bleeding. I look at the wall with the decorations ripped off and see the beginnings of some blood on the wall. I round the corner and see another culprit: a completely destroyed light switch...perfectly fist sized indentation.

I walk into my bathroom and the horror really kicks in. A giant hand-splatter of blood sweeping along the bathroom wall. The toilet seat is also covered. Dear, god, what happened here?

Then, I remember two friends from the bar coming over to my place. I immediately get a hold of them to see if I either killed or hurt them. "No, no worries! We had fun!"

Good, my rage occurred after they left. What brought it on? Or was there even a reason?

No more. I quit. I can't take the chance of seriously hurting myself and my friends doing this downward spiral shit. I love my demons because they are a source of inspiration, but it has gone too far.

Good-bye to you, my friend alcohol. It was fun while it lasted.