Alcohol: Depressions Cure

This is a piece I wrote one day while feeling a little down. Partially based on personal experiences in my life, and the lives of friends and things I have witnessed in college. It is not a happy piece by any means but if nothing else at least some people may see that everyone has their problems. Just don't expect humor or any uplifting stuff in this post. The next will be more cheerful, I promise :D

A bottle clinks,
The sound is lost to the room.
The room is filled with around 40 students,
The professor rambles on.
No one has blinked an eye at the clinking of glass on the drab brick walls of the room.
The only person who notices is me.
It's a bottle of therapy, a way to cope,
Comes complete with the slogan "damn right your father drank it"
It's 9:30 am but the bottles half empty.
The can of Starbuck's Doubleshot sits on the desk, innocent looking.
A simple wake up drink to the passing eye, though the class does not see the evil that resides within.
The mixture, half whiskey half overly processed Starbucks which claims to be "coffee".
The student sits there sipping his concoction, blends into the so called academic atmosphere.
The rest of the class is only pretending to pay attention anyway he thinks to himself.
He continues to sip.
The alcohol seeps into his bloodstream, slowly taking hold.
After all it is his second class this morning and the first class was no different.
He takes another swig
The professor continues to babble on, nothing more than background noise to the boy.
The class is full of noise of pen on paper. The other students adamantly writing as fast as they can, fearing their next exam.
Not the kid in the back corner.
He has his "coffee" and a crossword.
The puzzle, half done, but progress is slowing now.
The words are slowly blending together, the answers no longer coming as easily to him.
Thank the drink of our fathers for that!
It is taking hold of him, providing release.
He is lost to the drink, but safe from his mind now.
He no longer is worried about the troubles of his home life, the immanent divorce of his parents, the loss of the love of his life.
SHIT, he takes another swig as life gets real again.
The mellowed out mixture no longer producing the full effect he seeks.
The bathroom is only a few steps away.
Should he use it as an escape to go to the bottle, no more mixing of booze with an intermedium!
No, for him it will be pure whiskey to the bloodstream.
He needs to speed up the release, the escape still no one has thought about the clinking of the glass bottle!
One more swig, trip to the bathroom deemed too risky.
He has to talk to the professor after class and cannot risk smelling of fermented drink.
No, instead he will simply drink faster.
His drink dwindles but the ethanol level rises in his body.
He still has two classes to go; the most pressing issue on his mind now is how long will his bottle last?
He regrets his life, the alcohol turns on him.
He no longer escapes but is instead thrust deep into his mind
Lost to his thoughts, lost to the problems of a 21 year old experiencing life.
The life experience of being kicked in the balls.
Another swig.
He thinks of his home life.
He had a great childhood.
His family well off, his parents loving.
He spent his summers on the lake or on one of their family vacations, his parents happy!
But that is no more.............
No, his mother has changed since he moved,
His father now subject to his mothers hidden wrath.
He wonders is it his fault? Was he the peace keeper?
Did he allow the now apparent facade of happiness to go on for 21 years?
It's no matter now; the father has been forced out.
The mother goes on with life, pretends nothing is wrong but the boy is wise!
He knows the truth, the chaos that exists a mere six hours away.
His dad forced to a bed and breakfast but the boy is left in the dark, neither parent willing to discuss this with him but he knows.
No, he leaves these thoughts with another drink, the can almost empty now.
He hoped to escape but once again fails, his thoughts now onto the love of his life.
They have lived together for the past two years.
The years filled with both happiness and regret.
He loves her though, mistakenly so!
She knows, for he has praised and worshipped her for those two years,
She returned those feelings.............
for a year.

No more, she has found a new lover, thrown the boy to the curb.
He talks to her only once a week now, her yelling at him for mistakes he has not made.
He loves her still, picks up the remnants of her sexual relationship with the new guy.
A guy he loathes, who has left her once already.
This sot of a student taking care of her after, but he loves her so it is ok!
But now she has one back. The worthless man who now has called her back like a snake charmer calling her back to him, making her writhe and slither back to him.
Months have passed since the boy first comforted her after the break up with the snake charmer but he does not care.
Meanwhile she continues to be fascinated by a guy who at one time did not want her.
The boy is left thinking about this.
Another sip, the can now precariously on the verge of being empty.
His thoughts go on; he goes back to the most recent message from his love.
She no longer wishes to speak to him, he has done nothing but love and now he is thrown to the curb.
His love, the snake, now lost to the charmer and his flute.
But the boy is tone-deaf.
Lost to a way to call her back.
No he is finished, has now become a mouse to be fed to his former love!
She is hungry!
His love, a food source of the charmer has trained the snake to think.
She strikes, the poison coursing through the boys veins.
It will not provide death though,
No instead he watches on, paralyzed from the strike.
He watches as the charmer now calls her back to him.
Her lies there, praying for death but it does not come.
No he is lost in his mind!
Stuck with the metaphors.
He once again becomes conscious of the background noise.
An hour has passed yet he remembers none of it.
No, the sound of scribbling of notes, the babbling of the professor has been lost to him.
He was stuck in his mind.
He finishes his drink.
Class is lost for the day, why try to pay attention now?
Instead he raises his empty can, longing for more relief.
No worries though, he has a break in ten minutes!
He shall refill his can, hopefully to finish the cycle.
Hopefully it will provide the escape he seeks.
The end of thought, the peace of the end.
However the end he does not believe in, but change he does!
So he goes for it.
Refilling his poison, seeking the end.
It will come, the loves toxin no longer paralyzing.
No, he takes his final sips into darkness, the end has arrived.
All of this stemming from a noise only he heard.
For the boy is the writer, the holder of the bottle, the man seeking the end.
A noise will no longer go is passing for even a whisper holds a deeper meaning.