As if I’m going to wash my sins,
by finding a substance so viscous - to annihilate the acid
that seeps through me.

Perhaps it’s you refilling my first glass,
which is dried up by 11,
and replenished by 5 past.

Must I keep forcing it down my refusing gut,
so I can bare the stutter drooling,
crumbling, out your teeth.

Till I’ve sipped needlessly on your lies
and fell drunken on your delusional fables.

Now I’m slurring in my nights,
awoke, still high on your acid.
Eyes are bulging, bloodshot
from you firing bullets of your decaying  burden.

-

As I walk I stumble,
diverging around solum streets.
Crows peck at my skin, to prompt me at sunrise.

Now and again I revisit
the morsels I had collected from the bottom of your chalice.
Savouring as I gulp down my regret.
Desperately urging to be hungover your reveries
one last time.