I want to die, part 1

These desperate times.

Soaked in stinging liquor and dripping across the hardwood floor, my shoes tapped on top, the heart flutters below.
It happened, like in a dream when you're fidgeting with your buttons but they won't cooperate. Nothing cooperates in your vision, so you fret and fray, then wake up tired just the same.

Buttons aside, I gulped down another cool gulp of that drink, whatever it was, and I felt a little less like caring and little more like getting lost in the blur of yet another empty cup.

Thoughts I may have had:
"There's echoes of howling in this haunted house. The lights are dimmer, I think, or else my eyes only want less to see. Dripping little mess, you are. Why don't you go sour somewhere else?"

I had brought a hula hoop, my heart and soul as of late. It reminds me of force! Of control! I made my way across the porch to the dark yard, an enemy here and there. I am often impressed with my expert dodging skills. It's nearly scientific, the way I can avoid. So I made my descent off the porch ledge, touched my feet to the cool ground and let the hoop orbit this nothing girl. I am the center, a planet, a galaxy spinning further and further off into the dark trees, the cold, wet hills.

All the while, I am dreading the tension of the earth. Waiting for the hoop to fall, to skid across the grass, to clash against my ankles. The stars! Oh MY stars, my moon! The sun has gone down, and so does the hoop, my love. It wraps around my hips one more pitiful loop then flops on the grass like a hooked fish being dragged in to his death.

I am indifferent, more so than I thought. Guess my lips were missing liquid as well was my mind. Mine field once more, through the sliding glass door into the haunted house where my poison resides.