vicodin is a long term friend
with a warrent for my liver
and my life.
1:43am
we had an appointment
and god only knows
i could never be late for such
a chalky sense of closure.
and the young paramedic
who burst my vein and scolded me
could only pray his words
meant more than the hum of streetlights
as my body exchanged existence
for the embodiment of thought
and a brittle concept of my phrenic nerve
which was never more at peace than when
my lungs remembered the luxury
of standstill traffic
of weighted morals
of crushing insecurity's release
and the resulted ballooning
as squashed egos cry, and the garage door screams as it's yanked open
horrid sounds and tortured motion on both accounts
spiritual cataracts torn free
commercialized visions now blur
as the orange bottle morphs from
vicodin to paracetamol
equalized views in my bloodstream
as the sheet metal ceiling shifts to plaster tiles
to a TV set
to a bathroom mirror
to an agonized woman next door
to the back windows where my mother cries where no one but the whole world can watch
to a blue plastic mattress and a first floor window covered with bars
to a pale green day room with a caged TV
where there was bleach in the stomach of a nine year old
where the dying took their resurrecting breath between games of spoons
where the hinges screamed and blood pressure was taken three times a day
this where the living came to kiss death goodbye
until next time
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 10:09 PM UTC
vicodin is a long term friend
with a warrent for my liver
and my life.
1:43am
we had an appointment
and god only knows
i could never be late for such
a chalky sense of closure.
and the young paramedic
who burst my vein and scolded me
could only pray his words
meant more than the hum of streetlights
as my body exchanged existence
for the embodiment of thought
and a brittle concept of my phrenic nerve
which was never more at peace than when
my lungs remembered the luxury
of standstill traffic
of weighted morals
of crushing insecurity's release
and the resulted ballooning
as squashed egos cry, and the garage door screams as it's yanked open
horrid sounds and tortured motion on both accounts
spiritual cataracts torn free
commercialized visions now blur
as the orange bottle morphs from
vicodin to paracetamol
equalized views in my bloodstream
as the sheet metal ceiling shifts to plaster tiles
to a TV set
to a bathroom mirror
to an agonized woman next door
to the back windows where my mother cries where no one but the whole world can watch
to a blue plastic mattress and a first floor window covered with bars
to a pale green day room with a caged TV
where there was bleach in the stomach of a nine year old
where the dying took their resurrecting breath between games of spoons
where the hinges screamed and blood pressure was taken three times a day
this where the living came to kiss death goodbye
until next time