It’s a schizophrenic utopia in here.
Voices walk the halls
ahead of the shadows.
Every time I reach for the bottle
I’m afraid the universe is going to fold in on itself.
The wolves stand in the entryway.
Watching me kiss the red flower.
The smoke seeps from my skin
and I close my eyes.
Only to find you there again.
So I take another hit.
Look one more time at the hand I was dealt.
And say ”**** it”,
while reaching for that bottle.
I fold.