  Absinthe Staring down at the brink of infinity at a perspective from forever for what it's worth, The shot glass looks exactly the same from every angle after a while. Shards of fire from the heavens fall in slow motion into the green depths, Streaking opaline yellow behind them as they plunge through the waters. Thorns of lightning whirl and wind their way through the rivers of red, Branching their way through open portals all magenta into the gray city. A scream and the glass spins away, suspended for an instant in the purest moment, And then shatters and falls, leaving an indelible stain on the carpet.      
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