I swallow the ichor
down as the world
around me races by.
Hatred burns in each
taste.

Tears that burn like
ashes on my favorite
picture melts and
bubbles in my head.

So I drink deeper
as my soul figures
out why all the
saints say living
is a gift.

When all I have is
destruction in
my own under tone.

So I slash with
broken arms the hope
that is already
long gone.

Nothing seems the same,
but I am always
faithfully all alone
in this chaos.

And I'm done for
the glasses
dips my lips further.

02/03/2009

Posted on 02/04/2009
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