2 Every day I wake up I wish it was yesterday, so that I could relive the chances I had for really living that day before. I'm just paranoid. I'm just uptight.
3 I sit in the bar alone. Everything I do I do it with Alone. She is my only companion in the world. She is the only one I can talk to or cry with or laugh at, but she is not my friend. I hate her. I hate her almost as much as I hate myself.
4 Give me liquor. The bartender says something. I don't care what kind of liquor, just give me some. That's liking asking the patient what anesthetic they want. It doesn't matter. Just give me whatever will dull the pain.
5 The bartender puts a glass before me on the smooth, cold counter top that glistens because it is so well polished. I don't want a glass. I can't even wade in the glass. Give me the bottle. I want to drown.
6 The man behind the shiny counter top obeys me because he must serve my money which I hand to him so that my authority is clear. He brings me the bottle that I asked for, and I begin to drink. When I have finished the bottle, my pain is gone. I have reached an empty and dreamy place; however, there is no happiness. There is no joy. There is no one else to play with.
7 All my memories of everything in my life begin to vanish in a strange mist. Good! I yell at them and scream, for I could never stand them. Memories weigh one down. They force one to live in the past. The past is a terrible place. It is filled with the mistakes and regrets and tears that have branded the ugliness of folds and wrinkles upon my face.
8 I drink now like I never have before. This is real drinking; what I did before was just a substitute. Drinking is good, I think, but I still have not found what I'm looking for.
9 If I drink more magic liquid, I will find happiness. If I drink more of the seductive brew, I will find the peace that I'm looking for. I have to drink it all.
10 Give me another bottle. Why aren't you giving me another bottle? Take this green piece of paper with the dead president's face. It means nothing to me anymore. It's worthless. Just give me another bottle.
11 The next bottle fills me like a warm geyser fills the air with rainbows. I feel a comforting heat burning within me. I keep drinking, and my companion doesn't stop me. She never stops me. She never makes me do anything I don't want to do. I resent her for that.
12 The alcohol has left the bottle and has entered me. It fills my veins. It is part of my life, my blood. Everything is hazy. It is so clouded here--like a dream. Dreaming is my nirvana. It is my only chance to really live.
13 Throughout my life, I have had nothing but good dreams. Never have I had any bad dreams, none at all. Maybe it's because my real life is the nightmare. Maybe it's because my real life is the living hell. This potion that I drink will help me to dream so that I will never have to suffer the torture of being awake.
14 I will have another bottle. The bartender will reluctantly give it to me when I throw more paper in his face. Loneliness will not prevent me from consuming that last bottle. I will throw my head back, I will fall to the floor, and the bottle will shatter into shards. I will lay upon the floor with the glass cutting my flesh, but I will feel no pain. Staring up at all that is above me, I will watch the ceiling fan begin to slow.
15 It's barely moving now. All the voices have become void. Darkness swallows me. I have found my resting place.