DRAFTS

The world - a place of suffering, pain, agony.
It was a blur.
The numbness, the burning liquor streaming down his throat, the slience.
He looked around, but he can't seem to recognise anything - he couldn't even make out whos arms he was in that night.
The scent - familiar but undistinguishable through the overwhelming smell of booze and vomit on his satin shirt.
The smell was comforting, it was tranquil.
The smell of his own downfall.
Or was it just the man beside him?