Distillations on Silence

Throbbing of swollen ears, glass coated larynx. The mirror
only tells one truth, the hollow space in front, not the deadness
inside. Whiskey breath, clots of blood beneath the eye lids. That last
shot of poison did the trick.

Innocuous sounds from
the television drift into the room. Life continues outside, unchanging,
un-noticing. The central heating clicks off and so do you, down to the
very last drop.