Morphine,
Like her sister
Absinthe,  
Has a slender, glass waist,
  But she is not as green,
And lacks
Taste.
Both have
Fragile wings
And whisper things
You didn't want
To know,
One with
A hint of mint,
The other's breath
As cold as snow.

Warning issued,
No one listened,
Beaming parents,
Newborn christened,
Caterers
And a marquee,
But they forgot
To invite
Me.

So...
Dragged behind,
Almost apt,
The baptismal gift,
Badly wrapped,
Turning circles
With that blackboard
Squeal...
An antiquated,
Spinning wheel.