Throbs of pain pulse under the sweat. Finding her muse in little bottle of white unmarked tablets. Lost were the thoughts of only a vaccine not a cure. But it was too late for numbness has already started to take a slow delicious affect.
Tears were unaware, the bastards they always were. Until the face feels the fall of something slippery and wet. Who would give in and wipe them off? The mind and the heart were taking bets never will they be able to get along.
And the winner is-
A bottle of vodka.
The failing liver claps the loudest and sings the victory song.