Still stuck in this hole
I'm starting to like it down here

*******, Pavlov.

Times are tough. Just a puff. One moment of despair.
Just a hair on a razor's edge. Just one step off heaven's ledge;
I'll dangle, before my wings
smoke
and fall from my back.
Just a puff.
Wings are for saps.

("And it's done," he whispers. "Too late to turn back.")
One failure is unconscionable to the voice in my ear.
There's time yet for that.
There's time yet for that.
My mantra reminds me of that will that I lack.

I'm better now.
Beat. Shake. Hands shake.
You okay? Blink. "I'm fine."
(Don't think. It's not a crime
to feel like your skin doesn't fit.)
To not really want to quit
any more. Hands shake. Beat. Blink.
Break. Boots quake.
Blisters pop inside your brain.
You okay? Blink. What?
"Sorry. Just not sleeping well."
(Going through Hell. Can't tell you that.)

I'm fine. Thanks for the sympathy.
(Throw me a line.)

Shiver. Beetles under my skin
wear top hats in my fever dreams.
They dance on pinprick goosebumps in
the pale fabric of my shirtsleeves.
Crawling. Aching. Never let it stop.
I need it more than it needs me.
Lock up my addiction; Throw away the key.
Gasping. ******. Never let it stop.
One more drag.
One more drop.
Lock up my addiction; Set me free.

Clenching. Teeth. Rattle. Sleep
is a memory.
She is dead to me... Or so I said.

Screaming. Teeth. Clench. She
is a memory.
Sleep won't erase this shaking dread.

Cigarettes. Teeth. Corks. Whiskey
is an elegy.
It reminds me there's a world outside my head.
Or so they said.

you said i was distant
you wouldn't stop asking without persistence
i told you what was wrong
and about how it's gone on for so long
you admitted your mistakes
and told me it was going to be ok
i knew that wasn't going to be the case

All
            my old scars have faded away, requiring a prolonged glance
            to distinguish the results of my past anguishes.
            My weapon of choice unavailable, I sidle into the kitchen
            and looked for a suitable substitute.
I
            sit on the floor, tracing over the places I
know
            they hide with the tip of a knife held gently in my hands.
            My mind sputters along slowly, trying to engage my heart.
            But once I’ve reached the point of seeking
pain
            directed outward, my emotions have dissipated,
            and my personality flat-lines.