Evening Activities

I was going to reward myself with a beer tonight, a nice cold one at the bar next door, but instead I think I won't. I have done nothing worthy of reward, and I would rather sit here on my bed (looking out onto my mess of a room) and enumerate my faults. I will milk the poison out of my brain as if I were a snake; I will save it, treasure it, store it in a vial on my shelf. One day, when there is enough of it, I will spread it over my skin and watch it burn through and feel the tingly sting of eroding flesh. I will rot from the outside in and relish every second of it.