Drop the stream through this sieve into the bottle
Where it shouldn’t belong you wish to
Drink up the poisoned milk in infinitesimal gulps
Of deathly satisfaction only because
The glass shards under your feet pretended
To be the grass and you believed as much as
That what felt like downfall was anything resembling warmth
Sneaking snapshots of neglect for nothing else
Is allowed to who you know yourself to be
And nothing else is a possibility for the
Identity was outlined in ink and blood and
Disappointment and disappointed you are
As a way to make the world feel familiar
At least there is one listener to make one feel at home
While the rest hold on to their promises
While keeping their ears open and their feet in the destined direction
And you are wasting away the precious moments
To drag yourself through the dessert of
Familiar bitterness
To be seen through the prism of your
Poisoned safety blanket
Only as illegitimate
Worthless poem really. A hundred bucks works better than mirrors