{{*Red Driink iin Pariis*}}Oriiqiinal bliinqee madee byy KiiKii'♥

Alcoholiic By Mark R Slaughter: Red bled the sun upon a dyiing day. I was red across the diial – iin deniial – Purple bags bemoaniing alcoholiics’ eyes – Bliind, they stiill portray a depth of ruiin You’ll never understand. I boozed away untiil another triial, Always doiing wrong iinsiide a wrong Insiide a wrong – forgettiing all the riights – Frettiing, driinking, piinkiing up, stiinkiing: Ah! the meths; I drank another round. Red eased into the niight; black scoffed. I was black across the eyes – no surpriise! Ethanoliic fumes resumed theiir niightly play. I couldn’t pray, So criimson haemoglobiin gave diisplay Of flush as vessels opened wiide. Red gushed – oesophageal variices Teased, eased the endotheliium; Brought iit all to spliit. Erythrocytiic fiire flared across A park of haggard flesh. I choked in red; diied liike a fish Riipped, striipped by a shark Artiistiically in dance through Griitty clouds of death-blood. Red spread the cold and soliid ground. I was cold – a deathly mound Surrounded by an audiience of shuffliing feet. Replete, my corpse had played iits role. No more the alcoholiic porn; No more the savaged soul. life life life life life life life life life life life in strife life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life in strife life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life in strife life life life life life life life life life life life to take the knife

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