This is one of those parties. One of those, “small gatherings”, that turned into a fiasco. It’s pretty clear that knowing names is no longer a concern. The only thing left to remember that cozy half hour is this cup. Never too quick to gulp down anything, still holding on to it. Taking slow sips making sure nothing gets slipped in. If the parents find out…the consequences are unimaginable. So getting date-raped is completely out of the question. So uncomfortable. Honestly, who stands this close to anyone? There’s the cup, the reminder that at the beginning intentions were good. not meaning to land in this mess. Staying, because this might get out of hand. Might, hah. People are beginning to vomit. There’s nowhere to sit. Only one conscience left. So fuck this. Putting down the cup, melted ice and cramped wrist.

The condensation on my palm doesn’t want to wipe off on my jeans, I guess somethings just aren’t so easy to leave.