Drunk Mind Speaks Sober Thoughts นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“You should shut up already and have some rest. You should feel better tomorrow.” “My baby was taken away from me. He killed us.” She continued and even though what she was saying was not making any sense, there was so much emotion in her voice and on her face that I was tempted to believe there was a story like that. When one is in a drunken state, they tend to speak gibberish. Yet, I did know that in most of the nonsense they spoke, there was sense in it. Their stories were from reality and maybe Jasmine had known a story like that before about something that had happened to someone like that.

Was I sober? I doubted it, I had drunk more than I had ever drunk before, so I could drown the bitter feelings that had begun to take over me. So that I could shatter the memories and wouldn't have to remember them again. But it wasn't happening. I can still remember it all. Of course, I should; it all happened a few hours ago. 'Am I beginning to develop signs of insanity?' I sighed. "One more..." I slurred out just as a man waltzed over to the bar and ordered a drink.

' He didn't know what to think anymore! Harrod fell into a silent thought as he quietly listened in on the rest of the conversation. However, only silly ramblings were all that was said as there was nothing of importance discussed. The drink had kicked in and they had started to speak in a slow slur, uttering gibberish statements. They only rambled while drunk about their messed up lives, and their family which Harrod had no interest in.

It was more silent now but still, the bass and heavy metals coming from the speakers wasn't muffled. I felt myself being thrown on a bed and as soon as my body hit the warm, soft foam I knew this was where I needed to be. There was so much peace within this room and what better way to spend it than with this man that was slowly driving me crazy. There was so much I wanted to say to him but I couldn't because I was still drunk and even if I tried, it would come out in a muffled way and I would surely make a fool of myself.

Any part of me at all, he took that shit as if he fucking owned it All I'm doing is relaying what I'm thinking, but not saying I been locked up with my own thoughts, I aint even fucking praying I been locked inside me room, I feel like I been going crazy I begin to hear my heart break all over again. After all this time of repairing my broken heart and broken spirit , it is easily broken just by thinking back on the events. I fist my shirt , pulling at my shirt hoping that will help – obliviously it does not. Memories of that day become more detailed as I sit back and watch the horror show happen right in front of my very eyes. Front seat of his SUV, we drunk and he on top of me It start to

"...people like me." 'People like me? He thought, what was that supposed to mean?' Is the saying true that the words of a drunk man words are his sober thoughts? If he isn't speaking gibberish that is. He stared at her lips about to do something stupid, something she would probably regret when she was sober. "I hope you won't remember this when you wake." Then he kissed her. ___

she felt the heat and strength radiating from him. “My masculinity is quite . . . Solid.” He said slowly into her ears. Her knees wanted to turn into jelly. “You sound quite articulate for a drunk person.” She said striving to change the subject as he let her go. “I’m pretty good at faking it. What about you, you sound very . . . “ He paused and it looked like he was considering his choice of words. “Pre-drunk.” “You mean sober?”

he asked. Peter glanced up, his eyes bloodshot and weary. "Whiskey," he mumbled, his voice hoarse. The bartender nodded silently, pouring him a glass. As Peter drowned himself in the dangerous hands of the alcohol his mind reeled with thoughts..but the sharp taste in his throat made him glad that his pain could be physical. The murmur of voices intertwined with laughter, creating a tapestry of life and distraction. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to lose himself in the noise, the weight of his mistakes never left his side.

Why wasn’t I hearing anything? Then it hit me. I hadn't heard a single thought from him since the second we'd collided. Normally, people’s minds kicked in right away when someone accidentally got a drink spilled on them. A stream of annoyed, low-level swearing thoughts about the stain, the fabric, and how the night was now officially fucked. But with him, it was just a total, unbroken void. Which should not have been possible. Humans thought constantly. Their brains never shut up. I knew that better than anyone. I had spent years drowning in it, learning how to filter through chaos that never stopped moving.

"You're pathetic!... His damn voices replaying again, poisoning the air, they sang out of my ears, and threatened to me go mad, no... Let's rephrase. The awful god forsaken voices threatened to make me more madder than I already was. Why don't you drink one more bottle,since this would soon become your daily habit once she's finally taken away from you. Yet again my damn thoughts start to hunt me, and I can't stop it. She'll actually get married to him and walk down the aisle right in your fucking face... You'll watch and do nothing. You will be nobody... The awful whispers dancing in my head, I open yet again another bottle lid, before pouring down the dark looking death to ease my torture,