two, three, four shots down.
her bloodshot eyes and whimpered voice,
now started to show how terribly drunk she was
an amateur being seemed to be engulfed deeply,
in the fantasy world of her own.
stammering at every word she spoke,
as of all the lovely things, she’d feel cynic about,
of how ecstatic she feels to be around him,
of all the guilty pleasures she’d take a chance for,
it has never been this wonderful.
she danced and danced
’till she could feel the drawn-out emancipation resonating from her soul.
she was free
like never before
it wasn’t the psychedelic music,
nor was it the Vodka that she was high on.
that night love was to blame,
for only love was capable of
intoxicating her to that extent.