Mescalyn

"So…I think it's time to end this…" he starts. I know these words he's bringing into existence, I've tasted them myself, I've had them in the back of my throat many many times. They taste like aspirins and rusty green coins. But I've made myself swallow them and I hate him for his weakness. He keeps talking and spitting words so familiar that I feel like they're my children somehow. I should be their mother, I should have been the one rolling them off my tongue. The wine tastes sour and I can't stop smoking. He can't stop talking. Something odd happens every time I try to look at him. His face distorts somehow. I can't quite put m