If only it was possible to escape the incessant chatter of my own internal dialogue
Tasting the sweet nectar of freedom
Something other than this bitterness that remains in my mouth

The smell of rust and alcohol lingers
Reminding me of the sins that have been committed
My hands have been stained red with the crimes I have perpetrated

I scavenge each corner of this shrinking body
Searching for something I like
Instead each imperfection is illuminated
Etched like a map on this sheet of translucent paper