here i sit
flask in hand
swigs can mask until
they can't
    i found myself
lost
at sea
sinking in my seat
remembering
how i'd fall back
in line with the
             b
       r        o
                  k
          en
children--
how i'd chant
count down in silence
   inch by inch
   face to face
with myself

how in arms we fight
and how it's armed with
my weakness
how its dark abyss
and how it
whispers afflictions
its armed itself
with their words
reflected
and in one breath
we harmonize
i need fixing

so i fixate
on these images
my eyes project
and reflect on
how i'm nothing

but a byproduct
of a pair of
broken white wings
with intentions
that contrast
their execution
they're so
toxic
so...
               perfectly
        mis
              matched
and as the toxins swinging
inside of me
take full advantage
of my churning gut
feeling it out
as if it's a hammock...
i have

full intentions
of swinging swigs
till i can't stomach
thoughts of obeying
my severed gut's instincts
every day
they lure me closer
to the edge of the cliff

and i have
full
intentions
of
swishing swigs
till the body-wide search
for my humanity
is abandoned
and i can finally live
and
the sound
of my own screams
can no longer
be heard.
because they're
being drowned
brutally
but ever so eloquently
in comparison
to how i'm drowning
myself
in swigs.