Partying

Yesterday I fell flat on my face
and the daze that I felt was more than a fluttering
in the pit of my fitting stomach
on alcohol and anything else.

The room smelt of smoke, testosterone and vomit. It was in her hair, I was stroking her back and there, there I was - fourteen again, fifteen again, sixteen again over a toilet sink or bucket or drain gushing my guts out praying on a friend. "Help me, just, I'm so sorry." Catch phrases from my own private Television series.

Though, this is more like a documentary, the repeat of days and the filling of fleeting moments with rum and whiskey and vodka. Young girls shouldn't be playing these games...It has to make you question. You have a duty to your fellow human being to question.

The parents are called. I don't agree with the situation. I take a step back, leave the girl with the people playing for the "adult team" and I hope her father doesn't give her a hard time. I sit in the corner, drink the rest of my drink and wonder when these days are going to be over.