at fifteen, I bought
a fifth of Bombay gin, planning to
swill it down in a couple of hours, in between
coming home from school and before
my parents returned from work.
I sank half the bottle,
got plastered.
I tumbled on the hallway, staggering against
the walls. I put the bottle in
a plastic bag, hurled it out of
the window. aimed for
the trash cans, it crashed on the
street.
I shambled to bed, slept
inebriation away. my parents never
found out; it was the day I embarked
on the lifelong journey of destroying
my liver and liberating my soul.
I still recall the day I assassinated
innocence, proud for all the things
(good, bad, and felonies) I’ve done that made
me the slurring man that just
wrote this
poem.
Currently residing in Greece, George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science and is the author of Letters to S. (Storylandia), Bourbon Bottles and Broken Beds (Adelaide Books), and Of the Riverside (Anxiety Press). His words have also appeared in various places, such as Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Fixator Press, Outcast Press, Piker’s Press, The Edge of Humanity Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.
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