bottoms up
Monkey see, monkey do; I guess.
'Cause I want to try it now.
I'm not stupid, I know it'll kill brain cells and liver cells and whatever-else-cells, but for a moment, I would like to actually be free of inhibitions, to have the license to be reckless.
It feels like I've bound myself in so many iron chains of self control and discipline that I can barely move. My innocent heart is obscured by layers and layers of spike studded metal, in an effort to produce myself as a constructed being of society.
Yeah, I know I'll probably regret it the next morning; along with the headaches, sudden depression, and pain that accompanies during, but wouldn't it be nice to rid myself of these chains even for just a moment?
Because for a single moment of insane drunkenness, I saw that he was truly himself. This was who he was, free of society's labels, free of expectations; vulnerable, crying, and still a douchebag.
Bottoms up, ladies. It's time we got fucked. (on shots of vodka)
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