Midnight Medicines

I start

with a sip

and

my glass

refills itself 

when I walk

away,

an empty

bottle behind the bar,

costing me

ten times

its shelf

price.

I hazily and halfheartedly

simulate

sobriety, my squeals

and

haphazard whirling

turns, fooling
only those
whose vision has
blurred in front of and 

behind
me.

Stumbling towards

the bar,

I think I see

a room

full of cartoon
faces.

Then a round

of unnecessary

shots

empties my sad, though glamorous,

wallet

as I tip

the distilled liquid

down

my inflamed
esophagus,

Swallowing-away
minutes of my

life

that I did not really

want

anyway.

--Jessica Gleason