The Shaking Bottle

I dreamt of a time that my life would get better, a dream. I've dreamt for as long as I can remember.
I never thought it would be filled with broken glass and empty liquor bottles, as I lay here in the dark staring at these empty walls.
I've got high hopes. It takes me back to when we started, the days are filled with broken dreams and neverending screams.
My high hopes all come to an end when I open my eyes to the shine of the morning showered sun.
I shake and shake, from the withdraws of that clear liquor taste. I forget the night that's past, like a never-ending loop of a cloudy overcast.
I drank to stop the pain, to finish the broken game. That seems to cause nothing but shame.
I put that bottle to my head and pulled the trigger, finally drinking away my memory. The world seems, like a bunch of distorted dreams. Imprisoned by my thoughts, I try to close my eyes.
They feel so real. Like a twisted form of reality, nothing but a cut open tragedy.
I thought of grabbing the blade. Running it through my crystal white skin, till the snowflakes of my white skin turned red. Time to call my next of kin.
The sounds of bells scare me. Not because I think they will be my wedding bells but because the only bells. I'll hear will be the ones at my tragic funeral, left by nothing but a painful mural.