The last intoxicated drop of alcohol ran down his chin.

He was told he could never win.

The small bag with white powder stared back tempting his every move.

Their were voices in his head that wantd him to loose.

The voices begged for more but he knew it was the wrong thing to do.

No one to reach out to. Nothing to claim his own but the demons that encarerated him.

They said it was cool but now who's the fool?

He wondered if anyone would care.

He wondered how the knife would feel if his chest was bare.

Now there was no wondering or voices.

Only empty bottles and small bags of cocaine.

The last painful drop of blood ran down his neck.

There was no more chances to win left.