Wine

wine is my muse, i think when you drink you can forget how you are supposed to act, you're allowed to express who you really are without fear of offending anyone. Tonight i have only had half a bottle and im stopping (hopefully) with some self control, yet i feel the inspiration so i'll write a story

L.A. Death
The light was dim, but the smoke could still be seen. New leather lounges and a lava lamp. A bookshelf lined with books for show, the classics un dog-eared and the pulp well read. Seats that were too low for function. The vast windows showing a cosmos of stars, human stars, as the night time suburban sprawl edged its way to infinity. A metropolis of lost innocence, and hedonic ways. The party was over, and the guests had left. The pool outside was lined with empty chapagne and beer bottles. Her body lie bent and at an awkward angle. Silent in the center of the living room, next to an empty bottle of 1998 Dom Perignon. The crimson blood was thick. It was becoming dry, but newer and brighter blood seeped on top, from the whole in her stomach and from a heart that still beat, it beat fast, and it beat now, in its last moment. Her cigarette burning into the filter, soon the fire would start and the evidence would be lost. A guest, with a black suit and black thick framed glasses, strode off into the early morning cold, his breath visible, and his mind unclean.