The Reaper’s Day Off

I burn so fierce, though the rain pours in drowning surge, it neither puts out my fire nor overwhelms my breath.
So I take another pill lying here in the gutter, trying to dampen the pain booze couldn’t quench. As wishes leave my heart, and mind realize the truth behind the naive, my eye glance at the wound on my wrist, and a small stream of red in the water rushing down, far into the distant. Seems the rain doesn’t erase at once.
Smiling, as another pill is swallowed, for my broken bones ache so bad from the fall. Such luck to land on the curb, not to be an inconvenience for those walking over me, else they might had to bother and look.
The pill’s going down with ease, for the fury burning within feeds the fire outside, funny how it doesn’t tear flesh apart when fueled so plenty over the years, others maybe, not mine.
How the stretched neck hurt from the rope still around it, makes good cause for this pill to go down without a care.
Who says there isn’t an upside to each down? Why how else should a couple of pills be reason to use with this drink, if not for the dry, sore, sting in my throat and lungs from the exhaust and smoke. Ridiculous how fury nor fire can warm a body frozen, alone, naked in the blizzard.
So the bottom of the bottle is there, sure does go fast, when I take the last pill and swirl it around in the mouth with the last sip of scotch, and toss both bottles, the sound of the glass shatters, ever so clear, even with the blanket of rain, and roaring fire,
yet it all starts to fade, as the sound takes back, to when memories were now, and now wasn’t yet, at least just not so soon.