The Bottle

He loved the bottle, indulging in it’s uniquely, rich flavor. But, unknown to him, the bottle was broken, cutting into him with ever sip he took, leaving deep scars on him. He was blind to it though, already intoxicated from its liquid contents. The bottle enticed him to drink more, to consume it faster, and he did, ignoring the wounds the broken bottle inflicted on him as long as it made him forget the wounds inflicted by others.

The bottle became his addiction, numbing him from the pain of this world, but not understanding it’s intoxicating nature. It assaulted his body, slowly destroying it. It took his eyes, causing him to think the bottle was beautiful, when it’s contents made it ugly. It destroyed his mind, and he couldn’t think around it. It even wrecked his car. It took so much from him, hollowing him out until he was nothing.

He couldn’t break free, couldn’t loosen the bottles grip on him. It used his love and assumed control. He drank it’s venom for years until he realized he was being poisoned. He had to escape it, but he had created a new life with the bottle. Could he live like this? Continue living in a destructive world filled with anger, pain, and depression?

No, he had loved it for too long, and it had taken too much away from him. He wanted his life back, his freedom, his happiness. So, he poured the bottle’s liquid hate down the drain and got rid of it. He relapsed one time, then another, but after that he made a vow to himself to never return to it. He was free, finally free of it’s grasps and the cloud of depression lifted from his mind.

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