“You said that our friendship meant more to you than petty boys who offered you free booze. You promised that before things got bad, you would cut the ties loose, but look where we are now; struggling to break free from this rope of our differences that is now hanging from our necks in the form of a noose.
Just a homicidal suicide. That’s just what we’ve become because you seek God at the bottom of bottles of Smirnoff, though you admit that you never quite liked the taste, if it brings you any sense of being alive, you’ll down it anyways.
I know you’re secretly seeking death though you try to assure me that you’re just trying to live while you’re alive, but you speak with this integrity that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. I hope you know that while you slowly perform your steady-set suicide, that you’re also murdering those that you’ve chosen to toss aside, including this one, this fuzzy light, that is ever so slowly fading from your life. The one who is too shocked to avert their weary, wary eyes, so they watch as a helpless ghost from the sidelines.
You told me that the drugs and the heartless boys were just a distraction from the realities of life, that they meant nothing to you. But now you prefer them to me, and now we rarely speak, because you’re too busy inhaling smoke and downing booze.”