Vietnamese Condensed Milk Party

A party for one. Good health's fractious dream and general dental welfare are cast to the wind. The persistence of the inevitable aging process and internal rot that robs me of my looks and faculties seeps into every aspect of my fragile existence. I hear a constant buzzing, some distant appliance churning up electricity, the edges of my vision go fuzzy, my teeth are on end, there's a new pain in the place of a familiar pain, my thoughts are distinct but foggy, my imagination rewinds to find familiar paths where I'm lost, my breath is sour to the taste as I breathe in the fumes of a soul's lifetime pollution. I now have more hills to climb that I ever expected. It's that bloody but marvelous, sweet as heroin's opioid sugar, running straight through the condensed milk that's fighting for it's very existence as it nearly drowns in an ocean of hot dark coffee; Vietnamese style.